Kiss With a Fist
by popehippo
Summary: She fights and has a compulsion to destroy public property and the public along with it. He's addicted to cigarettes, sniper rifles and flipping off political figures. Together they fight crime while committing some of their own. In short: a love story.
1. Prologue

**2170****, Mindoir**

"He was _fine_! All I did was leave him on the porch! What're you so worried about, it's not like the grass rats are going to come after him, damn. _Ow_!"

The last complaint was spawned from a flat-palmed swat to his shoulder that Milo Shepard didn't manage to duck away from in time. His mother was too quick for him... as usual.

"Watch your mouth, young man!" she scolded with the drawling Earth-based accent that was almost a default on the colony of Mindoir. The majority of colonists had been selected from the south and southwest of North America, drawing heavily from rural farmers and ranchers to focus on a more agricultural beginning and possibly looking into raising stock to give the outer fringes of Alliance space a more steady source of meats and dairy. As such, even the children who had never seen Texas, Utah, or Mexico any more than they had seen a flying purple quarian still carried the tones and twangs of their forefathers' speech. Though it was doubtful those forefathers ever imagined their descendants would someday be over a thousand light years away from their quiet roots on Earth.

Milo rolled his eyes with all the dramatic effort a sixteen year old could muster as his mother continued to nag about how it was his responsibility to watch after his brother, he couldn't just leave him on the front porch and go off with his friends! God, she was loud. And annoying. Sometimes it was tempting to drag Bobby with him anyway, not to keep him safe as promised but to keep their mother from complaining about it.

He glared over to the other side of the table where his eight year old brother sat and mumbled, "Brat." The child didn't reply, only stuck out his tongue; Milo at least got to smirk a bit when Bobby received a similar smack from their mother, who briefly interrupted her speech on responsibility to state, "And keep your tongue in your mouth where it belongs, Robert!"

Bobby cringed. When Mom was saying your actual name, you knew you were in deep. "I saw Milo using a gun!" he shouted with a kid's natural instinct to derail the heat off of himself and onto another sibling. Survival of the fittest. Milo began to contemplate how many ways the younger child could go missing and not to get blamed for it.

"Milo!" Hannah Shepard turned her eyes back on her oldest son, her steeled gaze fixed like a hawk's. No escape! "Is this true?"

"It's just an old rifle that Batey's dad brought with him; it doesn't even have a heat sink!" Milo argued.

"It's still a _gun_. What if you had shot someone? Or yourself?"

"I know how to handle them, Ma. I'm actually really good. We shot some cans. Outside of town!" he added quickly as he saw her inhale deeply before another verbal assault. "I promise!"

She only groaned and ran a hand over her eyes. "What am I going to do with you. You just wait until your father... comes..." Her words drifted away as a bright light flashed rhythmically through the window. For a moment, Milo thought it was lightning; it had been raining heavily, one of the few times it did on the planet while it was still being terraformed, but he'd never seen weather that strongly lit before. Hannah seemed curious as well as her words fell away, approaching the window as her two sons joined her in staring outside. It was most definitely not lightning; even from afar, Milo recognized it as the lights of a landing ship, but from so far away, it was hard to recognize the model or size. He placed a hand against the window. The glass was freezing.

"Supplies?" his mother murmured, staring out into the unwelcoming night, "but we got a shipful only a week ago..."

Milo shivered.

**2174****, Pragia**

Warmth.

Subject Zero had felt blood on her hands before... both hers and that of others. But this time it felt different. As the guard let out his slow death rattle, slumping onto the floor in a broken heap, she stared down at the hot plasma dripping from her hands, so fresh it still steamed in the open air. The stickiness, the heat, or the stink wasn't anything new... but the reality that this blood was on her hands of her own _choice_ was new.

For once, her senses were clear and unaffected, and the strength of the clarity was almost mind-numbing. She could hear sirens shrieking overhead, drowning out all but her thoughts. Panicked red lights flashed through the windows, calling the Cerberus lackies to action. Underneath the thin white T-shirt and shorts - they were new; they had to be, all the older ones were stained from more things than even she could remember - her skin was prickled with goosebumps, though whether from the rush of activity or the cold air conditioning, she didn't know. The floor was cold underneath her bare feet. And most bewildering of all, she was free of pain... No drugs, no electrodes, no wires. And she could smell something... she knew the scent, but she was usually too messed up to recognize it.

Fear.

She grinned with glee and sprinted down the hallway towards her freedom. One guard down... and dozens more to go.

**

* * *

2176**** 9 years ago, Elysium**

Shore leave. Right.

Milo ducked back behind the concrete wall from the gunfire that exploded around him, wincing as he felt the tip of his ear get clipped, and it wasn't long before he felt blood dribbling down the back of his neck. Of course it was nothing compared to the freezing snow still raining down onto him and the rest of the people holding down the defense line. But unlike the rest of the police and soldiers who'd been lucky enough to already be wearing armor before the batarians had pulled a sneak attack on the human city, Shepard was only wearing his civvies. The omni-tool chip implanted under the back of his hand would keep up shields, but it didn't do shit for the cold.

"Oy, mate, you look like you could use one of 'ese!"

The young marine looked toward the gruff voice, an older man with a face like a bull dog who seemed to think dental hygiene was a habit not worth the effort. Like Milo, he lacked proper armor, though Shepard envied the thick leather jacket the man wore. In his heavy hand, the stranger was holding up a cigarette, fresh and not yet lit. Overall, he seemed nonplussed at the fact that bullets were still darting and zipping all around them.

"Me?" Milo asked.

"I ain't givin' it to the batarians, am I?" guffawed the man and pressed it into Milo's palm along with a lighter. It was small, sleek, and silver. It looked familiar, but he couldn't place the name for it. "Take it. Figure you've got more of a use than an old geezer like me."

"Appreciated!" replied Milo with a grin; he had to shout to be heard over a grenade explosion from a few dozen feet away. He flipped open the lighter; it made a satisfying 'chink' noise when the lid snapped back, and the little flame that lit the end of the cigarette was a welcome orange flame in a world of cold and wet. Taking a slow drag, he closed his eyes to savor the sensation as it slightly dulled the stinging pain of his ear, and smirked when he heard the old man chuckle some more. "Nice."

"Thanks. Make 'em myself, at home. The tobacco comes from the fields here, even. S'why I'm here." The old man reloaded his gun, checking the heat sink to make sure it was in place properly. "Gotta protect what's mine."

Milo arched an eyebrow. Here was an honest man. "That's courageous of you."

The elder man paused for a moment before he let out another hearty laugh. His breath filled the air with steam. "What, for admitting to being a greedy old fuck who's just looking to protect his place?"

"Better than what most people do, which is either pretend they're doing it for the greater glory when they're really wetting their pants, or just hightail it and run," Shepard argued. "I'd rather have a man who admits he's just doing it to keep his shit intact on my side than either of the former."

"Well damn, ain't that some decent logic. You won't last a second in the military if you keep havin' real thoughts in yer head like that," grinned the old man. "Better watch that."

Milo opened his mouth to reply, but a few things cut him off. A fresh round of gunfire. The shouts of some panicked officer nearby. And the wet splatter of skull and flesh as his new friend was felled, a stray bullet catching him in the temple. The old man sank to the ground without a sound, white hair and white snow around him staining brown and red. Though the world around him was exploding with sound and sights, Milo couldn't help but stare at the fresh body until the cigarette's heat between his fingers burned him. He cursed and dropped it before he could stop himself, glaring down at where it had fallen, snubbed it out by the sleet around his feet.

"Well. Shit."

**

* * *

2183****, somewhere in the Terminus Systems**

"If you're hearing this Jack... I'm probably dead, or as good as. In any case, I want you to hear this."

What the hell? Jack was sitting back in the pilot's seat. With the ship in auto-pilot, she was leaning back with her feet up on the console, the last of the freeze-dried rations currently serving as dinner. She'd cooked it too long again. Her tongue was burned. A little blue light blinked steadily from the center of the controls as the familiar voice continued.

"I know we've had some pretty dangerous shit go on together, but I wanted you to know..." Murdock's voice paused and she could hear some mumbling to himself before he continued, "I never wanted to live this sort of life forever. Sure, it's fun, lots of cash and whatever. But I can't help but think about the future. Do you ever think about that, Jack? I wonder if maybe someday, somewhere, there could be a house, somewhere nice and quiet. It's tempting to think about."

Swinging her feet down, Jack bent over the console and stared down at the little blinking light, but it gave no secrets. That sounded like Murdock. That was his problem, wasn't it? He over-thought everything! Her muscles tensed as anger boiled up hot and fresh in her gut as she remembered how he died so uselessly. That moron. He was too-

"And... when I thought about it, I always thought about sharing it with you," the recording said in a whisper, interrupting her furious thoughts. "Jack... I love you. Loved, I guess. If you're still alive and hear this, I just hope you know that."

What?

"If you're not... I don't know, maybe we'll meet again someday, somewhere."

_What?_

"I love you, Jack," repeated the dead man's voice as if it could hear her doubts, her disbelief. "Goodbye."

The shuttle fell into silence again as she stood and stared down at the panel. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to feel blood swell up underneath her clenching teeth, tasting of copper and soothing her marred tongue. The light had ceased blinking. In the end, even the fucking machinery left her alone.

Again.

**

* * *

2183****, above the planet Alchera**

Even before there was the hiss of escaping air from his punctured suit, before he noticed the utter loss of control as gravity became a thing of memory, he felt the cold. No, it wasn't exactly cold, but the sensation of warmth simply leaving his body and nothing replacing it. It had been winter when he had been hailed as a hero on Elysium. It had rained the night Mindoir had gone from a population of over nine hundred to one. But the hell that now robbed his flesh was something his mind and body had not yet comprehended as possible. He could _feel_ his sweat and blood and saliva; his skin was tightening, chilling him to the bone, becoming too stiff to shiver.

There was a loud _pop_ and then everything went silent through a rush of pain in his skull; with lucid calmness, he guessed that his eardrums had burst.

He tried to remember his training, to not panic, and especially not to hold his breath. But as he continued to whirl away towards the planet, a piece of the _Normandy_ sailing past almost peacefully, it was a little hard to stay calm even as he counted down the probable seconds of consciousness he had left. _Oh god. Oh god__. _Even with a marine's self-control, in the face of death, his instincts forced his lungs to drag for breath before his mind could stop it, and he was met with nothing. How long was it supposed to be, he wondered. Before you passed out, your system dragging out the very last bubbles of oxygen from every corner of your body to feed your brain as it shut itself down? How long before... he could feel frost... on his neck...

_How long before..._

A flash caught his eye; a glorious red and orange as Alchera met her sunrise, her star peeking out from behind her. The perfect view.

_...Long..._

His heart hurt.

_How..._

...

**

* * *

2185**

The guard on Jack's flank went down like, well, like a dead guard. A mist of blood hit the air as the batarian collapsed, a nice clean hole all that was left of one of his upper eyes. This wasn't unusual for Jack; people tended to experience gravity and physics at a rather violent rate when in her presence. But what was surprising was that she herself hadn't touched a hair on him.

Still panting for breath, she swung around to face the one who _had_ shot the Blue Suns member. There were three of them; a woman and two men. Right off the bat, she knew she hated the woman. She wore her beauty like a billboard wore an advertisement, and it wasn't accidental. There was a look of disdain on her statuesque face that brought to mind the way someone looked when they found gum on the bottom of a new shoe. All in all, Jack felt she looked like she could use a little color, sufficiently applied with a punch to the face.

The other man just looked dull. Blank face, blank expression, but body set and cocked like an explosive just waiting for someone to pull the pin. Typical soldier.

And in front of them both, another man. This one wore full armor but apparently that hadn't been of much use; a gash ran vertically along his left eye, bloody and fresh. He had that eye squeezed shut. Judging from the still smoking pistol, though, it hadn't impaired his vision that much... or he was an incredibly lucky shot.

He was smirking. It was infuriating.

"Howdy."

"Who the hell are you?" she snarled.

The soldier arched a single thick eyebrow. Jack tried to remember the last time she'd seen anyone with hair that bright of a red and came up empty. Holy shit. "Commander Milo Shepard. I'm here to get you off this ship."

Still pacing from side to side, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Did he think she was that stupid? She had seen the ship[,] and the symbol it wore. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You're Cerberus." She spat the name with venom.

The man shrugged. "I'm offering to be your friend, Jack. I don't want to be your enemy, though we can fix that."

"They have a way of dying," snidely commented the bitch in white. God, she'd just look _so much better_ with a few missing teeth. Or bones.

"You show up in a Cerberus frigate to take me away somewhere," replied Jack, nodding her head back toward the parked ship outside the window. "You think I'm stupid or something?"

Shepard arched an eyebrow and replied with enough sarcasm to drown in, "Gee. Well. I suppose I could leave you on the exploding ship full of loose prisoners and guards with happy trigger fingers. I shot a pretty good number of them, but I can't kill everyone. But, hey, if you would rather stay here..." As if to finalize his words, there was a rather loud explosion from beyond the doors behind him followed by a few muffled screams that quickly fell silent. He had a point, Jack realized.

"Could just knock her out and take her, Commander," offered the other Cerberus lapdog.

Jack snorted at the idea, but she saw where this was going. If she killed them, she had two choices; try to make it to the frigate and steal it or head back and see if she could find escape pods. There were two problems presented there, though. One, Cerberus agents were sure to be aboard the frigate and no doubt they were just as equally armed as the ones standing here. And two, she was pretty sure this hellhole didn't even have escape pods; too many chances for the prisoners to try and use one... or, perhaps, one of the guards. Sometimes the Blue Suns members were just as trapped here as their captives. But... if these people _were_ Cerberus...

"Look," she offered, stepping closer, slightly impressed when this 'Shepard' refused to back away like most would have, "you want me to come along? Make it worth my while."

"Such as?" asked Shepard.

"I bet your ship has lots of Cerberus databases. I want to look at those files. I want to know what they have on me."

The woman's protest was immediate. "Shepard! You're not authorized to-" She fell silent as he interrupted with a wave of the hand and said to Jack, "You'll get full access."

Jack grinned at the open resentment clear on the bitch's face. "Aww. It upsets the cheerleader. Even better." To Shepard, she said, "You better be straight up with me."

"I wouldn't dream of not being anything but," he said with that _stupid damn smirk_, "after seeing the damage you've done."

She stared him down for a moment. His face was a passive mask, his gray eyes meeting hers without flinching, before she looked away and growled, "So what the hell are we standing around for."

Shepard nodded in reply and gestured to the exit. The room rumbled around them as systems began to fail. "Everyone onto the bus, kids," he said with an optimistic tone. The other soldier shook his head but obeyed; the woman in white took a moment to glare at Shepard and then Jack before following as well, leaving Jack to follow up behind them.

_Well_, she thought cynically to herself as she watched Shepard's back lead them to the unknown ship, _this better be fucking worth_ _it._

_

* * *

_

**[AUTHOR'S NOTE]:** This is my take on the Jack/Male Shepard romance, in case you haven't noticed. Without going into it at length, I felt like the romance in game was lacking a bit of sensitivity regarding Jack's issues, especially in the last scene. So! I went the fan route and decided to re-write it. \:D/ I hope I'm able to handle it as sensibly and sensitively as it should be, and I hope it's a good read to boot. Comments and critiques are, as always, welcomed.

3


	2. Chapter 1

_...I built a man made out of bricks, and lived inside his chest.  
I beat my head against the wall to make a heart deep in his breast.  
I smashed my fist against his ribs to suck the air inside.  
And swing by swing, and blow by blow, I brought that man to life..._

* * *

Milo woke up before the alarm went off. Rolling over to the side, he saw the little yellow lights of the device blinking patiently at him. Oh-seven hundred, he read through the hair in his eyes. Two years dead, and he was still completely incapable of sleeping in past that time. Crazy.

With a groan, he rolled himself out of the bed. It was soft and fluffy as well as perfectly big enough without being too big. And that was annoying; the space was wasted as he still curled up into a ball as all soldiers did when sleeping in the pods. The unfamiliarity of the cushioned mattress and sheets kept him up. He stretched his arms up and over his head with a loud exhale of breath, his legs stiffening out in front of him to flex some muscles. But it didn't feel quite... right. Not sick, no, he was perfectly healthy. Cerberus had made sure of that. But just... out of place.

His face ached, he knew that much. After releasing Jack from cryo, and by consequence letting out every single prisoner on the vessel, he had been surprised by a perp with a knife fashioned from a piece of broken glass. His eyes, luckily, had been spared but he had a rather dashing if currently painful scar tracking down to his cheek. He'd decided to keep it, despite Chakwas' promises of healing it; he didn't like the smoothness of his skin, the way all the bullet holes and knife marks from fights past were gone. There had been a trio of thin rakes round his neck where Saren had once lifted him up like a rag doll. He could remember that moment, the swell of pain around the thin layer of skin and muscle that separated a madman's natural claws from his jugular. But the scar, the proof, was just that, too. A memory.

A small twinge in his left calf compelled him to bend down and inspect it; the skin was innocent now of the red marks that had lined his body after waking up, but he could feel the path of the stinging trailing along where they had been. He smoothed his fingertips down those lines, feeling a bit of resistance along the way, some rather solid and others more pliant like rubber. Cybernetics, he assumed.

Milo frowned.

His shirt and pants hung clean on the back of his chair. Once he had put them on and pulled his small scruff of hair into a ponytail, he pulled out a smooth silver tin and opened it up. Mmm, Latswana Lights; it was damn hard to find real tobacco that was still grown on Earth, and completely organic to boot, none of that electronic or genetically-engineered crap. It had been there waiting in the room when he had first boarded. He had avoided it though. Wearing Cerberus' clothes, riding in the ship built by Cerberus hands, that was all fine and dandy, but to smoke the cigarettes picked out by them was crossing a line his morality wasn't sure it was ready to tip-toe over until now.

Shifting on his feet, Milo could almost feel the added weight of the additions to his body. Like little, silent passengers who hadn't even bothered to pay fare. ...Fuck it, he wanted a smoke. But once he was dressed and heading to the door, a blue orb popped up like a gopher.

"Shepard. I would not advise smoking aboard the _Normandy_."

Milo stared at the AI impassively. "So?"

"There are regulations regarding fire hazards, electronic hazard, explosive hazard, as well as your own health."

The soldier shrugged. "No offense, but given my recent state of 'health', that doesn't exactly mean much to me. I feel like a smoke. Big deal. It's not like my lungs haven't been handling it pretty well for years now, and I'll put faith in Cerberus not to give me half-assed insurance."

"They are not the same lungs, Commander."

Shepard paused in the doorway and turned to stare back at her. It. Damn, he wished EDI had a real form of some sort, like the guides on the Citadel, or at least a face to properly glower at. It was hard to glare at a see-through hamster ball. "What?"

"According to your post-mortem and current medical records, after your death your lungs were too badly damaged from your death to be repaired entirely. For the sake of efficiency, new lungs were created using your DNA and lung tissue." There was a slight pause in her sentence before she added in the same monotone voice, "Without the tar."

New? Now very much aware that he was breathing, he inhaled deeply. It was true, he could breathe easier since 'waking up'. But he'd assumed Cerberus had just cleaned up the damage he'd rather happily inflicted for nearly ten years. But... new lungs? The lungs he'd been born with, the ones who'd drawn breath on more battlefields, cities and abandoned worlds than most humans had thought of were... gone? What did you do with useless lungs, he wondered. Throw them away? Was there a bag labeled 'LUNGS - MILO SHEPARD' just sitting around in a fridge somewhere next to the jam?

He felt a bit ill. He chalked it up to the fact that the smooth little roll of paper in his hand was still unlit. "Then I'll go downstairs, away from all the explosive shit," he grumbled and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Dark colors. Annoying and constant background noise. Possibly occupied shadows. Some of Milo's top non-favorite things, as they were all easy things for baddies to hide in, whether they were batarians, geth, muggers, or...

...Well, Subject Zero.

He caught a glimpse of her as he slowly made his way down the metal steps. She had to have heard him; everything echoed down here, something he was sure she was glad to take advantage of. But maybe that was a good thing. Surprising biotics with a temper like a wolverine was not high on his priority list. Still, he made sure to knock on the bulkhead loudly enough to be heard, since she was lacking a door. "Hey."

Her head snapped up. All her movements were like that, he'd noticed; jerky, quick, and spur of the moment. Like a woman preparing to attack someone... or, maybe expecting to get attacked. Her eyes ran over him for a brief moment before she replied back, "Hey."

"Do you mind if I...?" He held up the lighter and cigarette as evidence to his intent.

She shrugged, uncaring. "Just don't do it in my face."

"Fair enough. Thanks." He leaned back against a stack of heavy crates and cupped the little death rod to light it. When he took the first deep breath, he let out a happy sigh of relief as he felt the familiar rush of nicotine and flavor. So, so much in the universe had changed, but he could count on at least one thing that hadn't.

To his surprise, he heard the convict snort with what sounded like laughter. He hadn't been aware Jack was even capable of that.

"Shit, been that long?"

"Two whole years, in fact. You wouldn't believe how bad a craving gets, even when you're full of more holes than not." The smoke curled around his face lightly before disappearing up above through an air shaft. Both humans watched it for a little bit without much word before Milo looked back down to the floor where yellow and black datapads were scattered like leaves. "How's your research project goin'?"

Jack glanced down to them and shrugged, turning the lone pad she still held in her hands over and over. "I'm still finding out about me. There's not much on before I was there, and the stuff that is from when I was their little toy..." She grinned, though he had a feeling it wasn't meant as a smile. Wolves smiled, too, but usually right before they went for your jugular. "I already know about that."

"Did Miranda give you any trouble?"

And _then_ she really smiled, one of pleasure rather than a grimace of familiar distaste. "Nah. Kind of disappointing, actually." She tossed the pad to the floor carelessly. It slid across the smooth panel to bump against his foot. The former prisoner watched it scoot along before her eyes traveled up his body and met his eyes. "Thanks for letting me look."

"We had a deal. I don't like to break the deals I make," he replied with a shrug. "Mind if I ask what they did to piss you off?" _Though having met you now_, he mused silently to himself, glad she wasn't a telepath as well as telekinetic,_ that could've been as easy as looking at you funny._

"Who, your buddies?" Jack snorted, but her grin had fallen. "Short story, they're sick fucks. They raised me in a research facility. I got out when I was a kid; been on the run ever since. They've been chasing me ever since." Standing, she wandered over into the shadows, her body shape illuminated by the deep red glow; her sprawling tattoos ran across her upper body and head like roads on a map going nowhere. He'd seen them all before, it was hard not to. But for the first time, Shepard noticed a long scar trailing across the left side of her neck. He wondered if Cerberus had put it there.

"A kid? How young are we talking?" he asked, turning his eyes away. Despite the fact that she was the one who chose not to wear a shirt, he still felt like a peeping Tom when looking at her.

"Dunno."

He paused, considering his words carefully. "You don't know how old you are."

"Birthdays weren't exactly high on my priority list," she said with a snap, turning back around to glare at him.

"Ah." His cigarette was starting to burn out. Shit, he'd spent so much time talking that he hadn't gotten more than the first drag out of it. He took one quickly before asking, "You know, you could get better quarters. We have other rooms."

"No. It's dark, quiet and hard to find. That spells safety to me."

"M'kay, your pick." The cigarette was done. He bent down to crush the embers on the bottom of his shoe and pocketed the butt to dispose of later. "We're heading to the Citadel, should be there in an hour or so. Supposedly we're picking up a thief and I have to talk to the Council. Let me know if you want to come along?"

"The Citadel?" She considered that. "Never been."

He offered her a smirk. "Well, there you go. It'll be an adventure. See you at the loading dock."

Turning to go, he listened for her to reply with a yea or a nay or whatever. But it wasn't until he nearly reached the top of the stairs until he finally heard her say, "Yep."

* * *

The Citadel. What a crock of shit.

Crowds of people smushed up together like cattle, bright lights in more colors than you could imagine all flashing for some shit you probably couldn't afford, ads that talked to you like they knew you... It was a city of cities, and there was a ninety-eight percent chance of someone fucking you over when you least expected it. And unlike Omega, where you could at least expect the gun to your face, or the financial backstabbing of Illium done in the darkest of places, they all tried to play it nice here. The cops were your buddies, the politicians wanted to protect you, the shops wanted to sell you just the right thing.

And Jack hated it all. Was it safer than either Omega or Illium? Most definitely. Less reason to sleep with a knife under your pillow. But safer did not equal better in her book. The Terminus Systems wore its sins like a coat for everyone to see as a warning, while the Citadel made sure all of its own was stuck down at the bottom of its pockets where no one else could see. She'd rather take her chances with the fuckers she could see than the ones who wore a kind smiles as they plotted your death.

Speaking of said fuckers... she glanced back up to the trio of alien holograms that were still droning on about Spectres and Cerberus. The commander had more patience than she did... but she swore that every so often, just a small bit, his fingers were twitching down where his pistol normally hung on his belt. Miranda was watching that with interest; Jack's suspicions of the porcelain doll wannabe being something like Shepard's babysitter seemed to be pretty much true. The woman had been on him like white on rice for most of their jaunt through the Citadel while Jack passed the time by considering how many ways she could run or steal a shuttle before C-sec caught up with her for ejecting precious Miss Lawson out the nearest airlock. Shepard, to his credit, had left her alone. Good.

The holograms disappeared, and Shepard turned for a private conversation with Anderson before turning back to his crew. By then, someone by the name of Udina had come in; his voice still rung in Jack's ears as they walked out of the office and to a taxi.

"You should have told those white-collar bastards where to shove it," offered Jack sagely.

Shepard laughed, his whole body going into the action. "Don't tempt me, Jack. But the way I see it, I've already got batarians who want to riddle my hide with more holes than Swiss cheese, all the major gangs of the galaxy and probably a few lesser ones would use my ass for target practice, the Collectors wanted to play doctor with my body, and I'm pretty sure Cerberus would do the same. If I can keep the Council out of that list too, all the better."

Jack rolled her eyes at his passiveness, even if she saw the logic. But something in the list of enemies stuck out to her. "Batarians?" she asked with an upraised eyebrow. "What'd you do to them?"

He glanced over to her. She hadn't lived this long with her sort of lifestyle and not learn to read people's expressions. He was still smiling, yeah, but it was a fixed smile meant to deceive and disguise. He was shit at it though. "I lived."

It wasn't the answer she had expected and it showed. Shepard only laughed at the look of surprise on her face and whispered, "Come on. Let's see how quick we can ditch Miranda."

Oh? She arched a fine eyebrow and glanced back to the woman as she worked the console for a taxi to come pick them up. When her eyes returned to Shepard's face, he was mouthing silent words. Three. Two. One. And he was off, quickly turning into a crowd of tourists and guides as they made their way through the Presidium.

... Eh what the hell. Jack sprinted after him, just in time before Miranda turned around and found her teammates gone.

* * *

"Oh yes. This... this is good stuff."

His head propped up by the palms of his hands, Milo was staring down into the most yellow drink he'd ever laid eyes on that wasn't his own urine. Oh yes, field survival training for minimum water conditions, how he missed those years. ...Years? No, days, how he missed those _days_. Days. Plural.

Soft ambient lights swum around the room from a high ceiling. It reminded him of Elysium, where it had been so dark and snowing so hard that even the strobe lights had struggled to get through the terrible night. Except this scene came with less shooting and more drunk aliens. Smoke curled up from and around the various patrons that were hunched over their drinks and smokes, including a quarian that had become the topic of interest for him and his fellow runaway.

"How do they even drink with that on," murmured Jack conspiratorially. In fascination and slight buzz from her chosen booze - Milo had noted with disdain that she had ordered beer that even he knew he couldn't stomach - the edge to her voice had dropped. Though she was not nearly as close to La La Land as he was. Milo Shepard, savior of the galaxy, killer of Saren and recent zombie, was a bit of a lightweight. "The- the helmet, I mean."

Milo considered this. His head had become as fuzzy as black velvet, and oh how he loved the feel, but it required extra concentration. "Tali told me about this. I think. Yes, she did." He paused as he made sure about this in his head. Had it been Tali? ... When he was drunk, quarians all started to look the same. Not that he was racist. No. Just- they were suits! Walking suits! "Something about a way to drink it with a straw."

"He ain't got a straw," observed Jack shrewdly through narrowed eyes. Only she could make a normal observation sound like an accusation of dire insult.

"Then... I dunno."

Jack snorted and took another sip of her beer. Maybe that was her secret, he considered. He was incapable of little actions like sips, existing mainly through mulps. Mulps? No, _gulps_. Wrex himself had said it; explosions of all sorts tended to happen around him. It wasn't something he did intentionally, honest Shepard did everything big, whether Shepard wanted to or not.

Jack stared out to across the bar, watching everyone like a predator, as he continued to stare at her. So far, she was still a mystery. When he'd been told about some crazy biotic they were going to go buy, he'd expected... well, he hadn't been sure what to expect. Human, by default, or maybe an asari or something. But the short, completely inked young woman with the temperament of a wrecking ball was still a bit of a surprise to him even days after the fact of her recruitment.

Glancing back over, she caught his gaze as his eyes wandered down her left arm. "Lemme guess," she asked with a bit of a sneer that usually came from people who had been expecting such questions, "you wanna know about the tats."

"Mm, yeah," he admitted. "If you don' mind."

"Most are for kills. Some because, hey, why the fuck not." She held up her left fist in testament. D-E-A-T-H, one letter per knuckle. Traditional, if a bit cliche. "Some are for things I lost. Those are none of your fucking business. And if you ask to touch them, you'll be doing it without any fingers. Got it?"

"That's fair enough," he replied. "Your turn."

Jack stared at him like a deer in the headlights. Well, a pissed off deer. No, scratch that, too; he had seen Jack pissed off already. This seemed more like the 'I'm currently in default apathetic setting but gears still set to engage to angry' mode. "What?"

"That's how it goes, isn't it?" he asked, lifting his shoulders up then down in cartoonish fashion. Mmm, he felt nice and warm now. "I ask you something, you ask me something. Should- we should get to know each other. Teammates."

"Teammates. Pfft." She rolled her eyes at him. "You really want to know about me?"

"I like to know who's gonna be running around my back and front with shotguns."

"You don't need to know my life story to get me to shoot something. You gave me the files, I'll play war for you. End of story." After a moment's consideration, she smirked. She had full lips, crimson and thick. A hair-thin scar curved on the top, but rather than mar her skin, it only added to the look. Like... like fruit. Yes, fruit. The red ones. Tomatoes. No, not that kind of red. Darker. Like... dark red blood, pooled and deep under the skin. A ruse. _Bruise_. She had lips like bruises, bruises and fruit. But did she kiss like bruises?

The room was suddenly very warm.

"Okay then," she said. "What-"

"You should smile more," he blurted, fixated. In the silence of her surprise, his voice continued on without much though to his common sense, "You have a pretty neat smile," even as his brain sat in the back seat considering whether or not this was an entirely educated thing to say.

"Er, what I meant was..." Milo began to explain when a shadow over fell them both. A krogan of deep greens and browns along with a pale gray turian stood behind Jack; the smaller alien placed one tri-fingered hand on the woman's shoulders.

"Hey, sweet little thing," purred the turian, mandibles quivering like... ...what did mandibles quiver like, exactly? Milo's brain strained over that for a distracted second as the turian gave what he could only assume were doe eyes for Jack's attention. She didn't bother to look at them, staring down into her half-empty bottle. "Why don't you come along with us? This human's clearly boring you to an early death."

"Hmm, I wouldn't-"

"Stuff it, you ugly monkey," growled the turian to Milo. To Jack, he said, "Nice ink." He ran a pointy finger down her arm, along the shaded face of a woman. "You-"

He didn't get to finish his compliment. It was hard to talk when you had a face full of fist, especially the sort that read DEATH across the skin. Silence fell over the bar as the turian spun once and proceeded to hit the floor with all the force gravity could muster. It was only a second before his krogan wingman roared and swiped for her. Though he was nearly three feet away from her, Milo felt a static shock along his bare skin when Jack balled up a blue ball of biotics and shoved it toward the alien. He wasn't sure if krogans had concepts like 'rag dolls', but whatever the equivalent was, he was sure that was what this one felt like as he flew across the room and into another person's table. He didn't get back up. The people at it, a ragtag gang of humans and aliens alike, stared at the messed food and drink before getting to their feet. Knives came out of rather well-hidden pockets.

"Hey!" shouted Milo. Everyone turned to look at him, to this fool who was surely trying to break up the fight before it got worse. But he was only looking to Jack and, raising his glass to her in toast, said, "Don't kill anyone."

Jack grinned. "'Kay."

In the screams and shouts that followed as chaos became the new musical backdrop for the place, Milo cackled and finished off his drink in one happy swig. He only had to wait five minutes before someone tried to crack a wine bottle over his head before he joined the fray with a solid punch that sent the offending quarian across the bar.

The volus bartender paused in polishing the glasses only a moment before sighing and hunkering down behind the bar, turning her omni-tools barriers on as she did and an antique helmet on top for good measure. She didn't get paid enough for this.

* * *

She had been in a lot of cells, and as cells went, this one wasn't too bad. No guards with a twitchy trigger finger, no screaming prisoners, no dire threat of bombs or other such things... But she could live without the C-sec pigs staring in on her like a zoo animal. Though, Jack admitted, she wasn't sure if they were staring at her or her cell mate. While she had escaped with very few injuries - and the ones who _had_ managed to land a punch or a cut had been dealt with in quick, painful ways - Shepard was sporting a deepening black eye and a few bloody knuckles. And what looked vaguely like a bite mark around his forehead.

It probably wasn't every day C-sec got to arrest _the _Commander Shepard for public disturbance.

"Mmm," he mused, leaning back into the wall with his eyes to the ceiling. "Not sure how I'm going to explain this one to Chakwas. 'Well, doc, not sure if I have a headache 'cause someone tried to clobber me with a chair over the head or because a krogan thought he could use me for a chew toy' doesn't sound like it'd go over too well."

Jack laughed. She couldn't help it. Her nerves were still dancing with glee and pain from the fight, and she was still coming down from the way both fueled her up to bursting. Her fingers were still twitching. "I'm impressed at how many of his teeth you took out," she said, a rare compliment.

"Yeah, well, I ain't too keen on aliens putting their mouths over my head and biting down."

"Not like you'd lose anything valuable."

"Oy." Shepard leaned back into the cell wall, a portrait of dramatic misery. "You wound me."

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and looked back out of the cell, meeting a rookie's eyes and glaring. The young asari squeaked and quickly found something else to work on. "Didn't think you'd get in on it, though. You struck me as more of the pussy type who'd wanna avoid a fight."

"If I can help it. But I can't help it if locals have suicidal tendencies. And what kind of gentleman would I have been if I had held you back from kicking them in the peas." The commander grinned; he still had blood drying in between his teeth. "Thanks for not killing anyone, though."

She shrugged again and sat back. But while her voice was silent, her mind was not. Why hadn't she? It would have been easy. She'd sure as hell wanted to. The mental image of blue and yellow blood spattered together on the walls had been a powerful one. But when she had turned to look at Shepard, the way he'd grinned and cheered her on, doubt had entered her mind. She had expected him to give her some big speech about responsibility, kindness, turning the other cheek. Pfft. Turning the other cheek. Why didn't she just turn all the way around and make it easier for anyone to stab her in the back? What an idiotic philosophy.

He'd thrown her off with his words. That was all it was. It was hard to get into the killing mood when your 'leader' was helping you throw punches like a regular brawler too. Maybe Shepard wasn't as much of a tight-ass as she'd first thought. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant surprise, and she normally hated surprises.

_He's still Cerberus_, she reminded herself. His ship carried their people, and his clothes wore their colors. She'd stick with them until it no longer proved to her benefit. But they were not to be trusted. Though... it was worth it all just to see the look of fury on Miranda's face when she strode into the C-Sec office, red and scowling with indignation. She could already hear the words forming in the other woman's mouth.

And like a prophecy, Miranda approached the barrier with a snarl as smooth as silk, "I expected this from Jack, but not from you, Commander! The Illusive Man will be hearing about this."

"Well." When Jack looked back up from the floor, he was standing in the doorway, waiting for her patiently. He offered her a hand like a gentleman, not like a man who had just thrown a drell over a table and had called him things even Jack hadn't imagined. "Let's head on home."

...Home. Yeah. Whatever.

Jack stood and followed without comment. This Shepard was surprising. But it'd end, sooner or later. It always did, whether for better or worse. She'd just keep her head down until then. Better that way.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Song lyrics are from 'Throwing Bricks' by Florence + the Machine.


	3. Chapter 2

_...I was a heavy heart to carry,  
My beloved was weighed down.  
My arms around his neck, my fingers laced a crown.  
I was a heavy heart to carry, my feet dragged across the ground,  
And he took me to the river,  
Where he slowly let me drown..._

* * *

"You know... this ship is a powerhouse. You could go pirate and live like a king."

Milo opened his eyes and straightened up from leaning against the beam, glancing over to Jack where she sat back against the wall, a data pad propped up against her knees. The pile of them next to her cot could now reach past his ankles. Though Cerberus files were detailed and accurate, they were coded and difficult to work with even for those intimate with the organization, and Jack had refused all help from the crew to find the answers she wanted. If and when she found what she was looking for, it was clearly going to be through her own effort.

Another agreement had been reached some weeks ago. As long as he gave her free reign over the files and ship without Cerberus peeking in terror over her shoulder, she let him come down and smoke so long as he knocked on the wall first. This worked out well for both of them; the crew left her alone for the majority of the day, and he got to fill his craving. Even the restrictions on his end worked well for him. It did no one any good to surprise a biotic as powerful as she was.

As a strange side-effect, something of a conversational rapport had evolved between them. Part of him enjoyed coming down to talk to her, he had realized; she was probably the one person on the ship who just wanted to shoot the wind without any of the angsty crap that tended to come with it. No revenge plots, no genetic tampering, no nothing. No, not Jack. She just wanted to talk about being a pirate. It was actually kind of fun. Like playing chess, except the other pieces could explode.

"And, what, you could be my first mate?" he said, amused at the idea of himself with an eye-patch and hook hand, and her in a chemise and skirt. ...Scratch that, pantaloons. The equation of Jack and skirts was something his mind simply couldn't put together, like potatoes tasting like the color yellow. His imagination rebelled at the mere idea. "Yarr."

"Nah," said Jack, "I'd lead the boarding party. And handle the executions."

"Dirty work," he pointed out.

"My favorite work."

"Hostages can be valuable though."

She considered that for a second. "No. Usually, they're just trouble, and it comes back to bite you in the ass. If they fight, they die, and that's one less person who might kill me later. My chances of survival go up." She was smirking, and a fuzzy memory floated up from the abyss of the time lost to drink. _Lips like a bruise_. Hm. Where'd that come from?

"Maybe," he said with an apathetic shrug. He wasn't blind to Jack's cruel side. But a small nugget in his brain popped up in agreement with her. Yes, hostages were trouble, weren't they? You never knew if any of them were spies or just plain crazy. Rescue was the right thing to do, but it could hamper the mission. Another part of his thoughts argued on how cruel this line of thought was. _Maybe_, his sneaky little hindbrain considered, _but she's right._ "Let me guess. You've had your fair share of pirating?"

"And you've got a lot of questions, don't you?" shot back the former prisoner.

"Curiosity killed the cat and I figure since I've already died, what do I have to lose?" he offered in return. "You don't have to answer anything, though. If you don't want to talk at all, I'll find somewhere else to smoke." _If you want me to go at all_, he added but not out loud. He had a feeling that if Jack really didn't want to listen to his yapping, she would have forcibly ejected him days ago. Even Jack wanted someone to talk to, maybe. "And besides. I never said you couldn't ask me questions."

"What makes you think I want to know anything about you?" But, after a moment of consideration, she added, "Yeah, I was a pirate for a while. It's just one of the things on my list." Laying back on her cot, she held her hands up and counted off her fingers. "Murder, assault, kidnapping, drugs, arson, done it all." On the next hand, "Theft of military craft, destruction of a space station... oh, and vandalism. That was a good one."

Milo arched an eyebrow and flicked the ashes from the cigarette butt to the floor. "Vandalism," he repeated. "Seriously? I can't imagine you doing graffiti or something small time like that."

"I didn't say that's it was. Vandalism is what the hanar call it when you send that station I mentioned into one of their moons." And for a moment, a real smile flicked across her face and she laughed at the memory. "They _really_ liked that moon."

The marine blinked. The laugh had startled him. Was that really the first time he'd heard her voice without sarcasm, anger, or distaste in it? ... Possibly. No, it was. It was... What was it, exactly? "That's a lot of crime for one person. Why the space-"

"Hold up," said Jack, holding up a hand. "You said I could ask questions."

Milo blinked. "Yeah."

"Why the hell do you bother asking stupid ass things like that?" Her eyes narrowed, small orbs of brown on white hidden in swathes of mascara. "Why do you bother talking to me at all? Last I checked, you don't gotta talk to smoke."

Milo considered the question before giving a shrug. "I guess because I like talking to you." The truth was... that he wasn't sure why either.

Both of them looked up as footsteps could be heard through the ceiling, heralding lunch. He stubbed out his cigarette into an ash tray he'd put on one of the boxes nearby to make sure he didn't track ashes throughout the ship. "That's my cue to go. Want some lunch? I talked Gardener into making my favorite." He sighed happily. "Sloppy joes."

"What the fuck is that?'

For once, it was his turn to stare at her blankly. "You don't know what a sloppy joe is."

She glared, daring him to comment.

"It's a sandwich," he said, "with cooked meat, onions, and tomato juice in the middle. Very messy. It was my mom's specialty."

"That sounds disgusting." She rolled over, turning her attention back to the data pad.

"Hey! Don't knock it 'til you try-" His omni-tool bleeped at him. Glancing down to the orange display as he brought his wrist up, he saw it was a request to meet from Kelly. Odd. Why didn't she just come down... But then his common sense caught up to him. He was the only person who bothered to come down and he was quite aware of it. The rest of the human crew got along very well - maybe a little too well, if Kasumi really was right about Debbie in engineering - and the team he was putting together, while a veritable poster child group of misfits and weirdos, were civil. Hell, even Grunt could be decent if you gave him a wide berth. But Jack was the one people went out of their way to outright avoid.

"I'm leavin'," he said.

"Knew you would," she replied without missing a beat or looking away from the pad. "Bye."

"See ya later," he replied as he walked up the stairs. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he swore he could feel her eyes on his back. But the sensation didn't last long before he was up the steps; at the top, his assistant and psych counselor awaited him. "Hey, Kelly."

"Command-"

"Milo," he reminded her.

The redhead laughed a little, tucking some stray hair back behind an ear. "Sorry. I keep forgetting that. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that you have a private message waiting for you."

Shepard blinked at her, confused. "You came all the way to engineering to tell me that?" He shook his head and began to walk towards the elevator. "Whatever, I'll take it on the combat deck in an hour. If it's the Illusive Man, I'll take it whenever I damn well feel like it-"

"It's from the Williams family."

Milo came to a stop. "Oh."

The yeoman's words were careful and gentle. "I thought you would want to take that in your quarters. It also seemed better that I tell you away from the crew."

"I... Yeah." He forced his shoulders to relax. The cooled cigarette butt still in his fingers was crumpled. "Thanks, Kelly."

"Shep- Milo." He heard Kelly's small footsteps as she stepped closer to him, and he was expecting the touch to his arm even before her hand rested there. "I know I've talked to you before about this, but I think it would be really beneficial if you and I could set up an appointment. I know you and Ashley were-"

He cut her off quickly. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my cabin." Kelly opened her mouth to reply but he was already in the elevator and gone.

Kelly sighed a little to herself. She had been told from the start that getting through to Shepard was about as useless as trying to light a match in the middle of a hurricane. But she had to try. Though, she considered as she glanced over to the stairs that led down into Jack's little hidey-hole, perhaps there were some psych cases beyond her skill.

* * *

Leaning back in his chair to the point of being dangerously close of falling backwards, his feet serving as the anchor on the desk, Milo stared at his console. He'd read through the private message from Ashley's mother three times now, and was resisting the urge to repeat that a fourth time.

Somehow, somewhere, they'd learned he was alive. Anderson, maybe? No, doubtful. Tali, Garrus? Neither of them had been in contact with Anderson much, being outside the human military. Kaidan, maybe... if he even knew.

Milo rubbed his thumbs into his eyebrows. He much preferred being a soldier to what he was trying to be now, which was a super sleuth. Shooting was something he had skill for. Point, time yourself, bang, move on. No thinking beyond the fight, no attachments except to your squad, and even then you expected them to die sooner or later. You learned to let them go.

_Oh, you let her go all right_, whispered a nasty little voice in his ear, _you sure did, buddy._

Augh. He really was his own worst critic.

Sitting back up properly, he hovered a finger over the DELETE option. And considered. And considered some more. In the end, he moved his hand away and let it sweep up the portrait that had been placed on his desk.

If he found out which Cerberus lackey had thought it'd be amusing to put Williams' portrait on his desk, he was going to personally shove his sniper rifle so far up their ass he could use their nose for a scope.

"Commander," called EDI from her little shelf near the door.

Milo closed his eyes tight. Go away. "Yes?"

"We are approaching the planet. Miranda is standing by."

"All right. I'm taking Jack and Garrus. Tell them to get ready."

He waited for the familiar 'blip' that signaled EDI shutting herself off from the comm before opening his eyes again. Opening a drawer, he tossed the photo in, face-down, before looking back to his computer screen. A few key commands in, and the screen changed from the mail to a globe.

Huh. He'd never been to Horizon before.

* * *

"You're in the presence of a legend, Dellen. And a ghost."

Jack's eyes narrowed at the newcomer, and she carefully lowered her shotgun, darting a glance to Shepard. He looked surprised for a moment before he set his jaw. Ah. This wasn't a happy feel good moment, was it? The black-haired soldier approached the commander. Jack could have cut the tenseness in the air with a knife until the two men shook each other's hands.

"Shepard. I thought you were dead... We all did."

"Don't cry for joy or nothing," said Shepard, releasing the stranger. "How've you been, Kaidan?"

And before Jack knew it, they were arguing like varren let off the leash, talking one moment before descending into accusing finger pointing and yelling. The new guy, Poofy Hair Man, was pissed about not being told that Shepard was alive. Shepard pointed out angrily that he'd about as 'alive as god damned Frankenstein' but Kaidan wasn't having it.

"How can you work for them?" The soldier's eyes narrowed, glossy with anger and hurt. "You remember what they did to Chasca? Noveria? Akuze!"

"You're not seeing the bigger picture. You don't think I don't know who they are?" Shepard snapped back. "Dammit, Kaidan, you know me better! You know Garrus!" He threw an arm back to point at the turian behind him, who stood staring at the other human with disappointment. "Do you really think we'd thrown in with them without a reason?"

"Or maybe you feel like you owe them something because they brought you back," argued Kaidan. His tone was already grating on Jack's nerves like a file, grinding them down bit by bit.

Sighing, Shepard pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to go. "I don't have time for this."

"Milo. Don't do this, it's wrong and you know it. What would Ashley say-"

The punch to his jaw sent Kaidan in a spin. Jack had barely seen the commander move; in one swift movement he had spun back around and clocked the other man. Kaidan spat away blood and held his jaw, staring up at Shepard in surprise. A calm fury had swiftly replaced the frustration on Shepard's face. Where most people achieved gaining attention and fear through loud voices and near-violent gestures, the marine gathered it by simply not moving at all, his eyes locking onto Kaidan's like a scope. Even Jack came to a halt, watching him with care.

"Don't. You. Dare," he said, his voice down to a whisper barely above Horizon's wind. The two former allies stared each other down before Shepard finally turned away again, marching back to the landing spot with fists balled and head bent. Jack followed along behind, keeping her distance; she hadn't survived this long by knowing when to duck from explosives, and this philosophy sometimes applied as much to people as anything else. Curiosity prodded her to glance over her shoulder at the man left behind, a range of shock and anger on his features until he too walked away.

"Can't believe that," the turian was grumbling as they walked, shaking his pointy head in disbelief. "Even bringing up Ash? He had to be pissed off..."

"Who's Ash?" Jack asked. Her mind considered the possibilities. Only a few could have gotten such an angry response out of Shepard. She had been part of the crew for over two weeks now, and she had yet to see him that pissed off. Even under fire from mercs and robots, she could look over at him and expect to see that stupid-ass smirk.

The anger in his face... It was... she wasn't sure what it was. Disturbing, to say the least.

Garrus looked over to the convict with skepticism. "Used to be on the _Normandy_. But she... It's not my place, really."

Jack narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to ask something else but Shepard called their names. The shuttle had landed. Time to go.

* * *

Dinner time. Well, at least for her.

Supper for everyone else had been about an hour ago; to avoid the rush, she waited until everyone else was done and in bed. The cafeteria was silent and dark, perfect conditions; she had dragged a chair around so her back was to a wall as she munched down on a grilled meat-and-cheese sandwich. Cooking was not in her range of skills; she had learned to make use of microwaves and toasters like an expert. As such, the word 'gourmet' tended to translate as 'the greasy and burned bits on something usually all brown and crunchy'. If fruits or dairy managed to get into the mix, it was usually completely by accident.

She stared down the path to where Garrus slept in the main battery, thinking on his words on Horizon as she chewed on her sandwich. The mental image of Shepard's face, so taut with outrage, peeked up from her memories. Their eyes had met only a moment in the silent shuttle ride back to the ship, and the message had been clear: _I'm not talking about it right now, and neither are you_.

For once, she'd kept her mouth shut.

Ashley. Who? Former crew mate, Garrus had said, but he'd refused to say any further. It seemed to be a sore point for him as well. The other person, that 'Alenko' whine-ass, had talked about her like she was something in the past. Jack knew vaguely about Shepard before the Collectors; common human soldier had become the first human Spectre, beaten down some dick named Saren, and generally been some big damn hero. Meh. She hadn't followed it too closely. She had been busy in the Terminus systems around then. What use had stories about a human Spectre been while she was on the run? Not to mention the other things that had distracted her that year...

She wrote the twinge in her stomach off to the crunchy meal now forcing its way down. She didn't think about the guy much anymore. Her days were filled with enough Collector and Cerberus bull to keep her mind focused otherwise. So of course his face appeared when she was least prepared, alone in the dark.

A light switched on.

"Hey."

Jack jumped, fist balling immediately as she turned to face her attack- Oh. "Shepard, you stupid fuck!"

He did look sincerely apologetic. But it faded quickly once his eyes traveled to her hand and he let out a laugh. "Oh."

"What?"

"Er..." He pointed to the now squished sandwich in her raised hand. A piece of meat poked out of one end sadly, lacking anywhere else to fit. The cheese was nowhere to be seen, most likely trapped in her palm. Fuck. "I wouldn't have done that if you had made some damn noise," she snapped.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't think anyone would be up here." Shepard wandered over to the fridge and pulled out two jars of different colored goop before getting a few pieces of bread. "How're you?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Gee, I dunno. Aliens shot at me all damn day." The soldier let out a laugh as he coated one side of bread purple and the other orange. Ew. The shit? What kind of food was _purple_? Holding each piece in hand, he smushed it together. "What are you making?"

He glanced down and then back up to her. "It's a PB and J." When her stare continued, "Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Kind of a kid food, but..." Shepard paused again, his face shifting a bit, the smile dampened. "Er, sorry."

"For?"

Reaching into the fridge, he pulled out a beer. He had gotten Gardener his organic supplies, but the compromise was that Milo got to stash his beer there. Technically against regulation but, hell, giant fish tanks probably were too. "I just realized I kept taking it for granted, that you probably didn't get to eat a lot kid food."

Kid food? Vaguely flavored pastes and breads came to mind. Fruit juice in the beginning, when she had thought being complacent would lessen the pain or punishments by her care-takers. When she realized it didn't and tried to rebel, the juice stopped coming with her scheduled meals. It had been one of her few regrets during those days. None of this was shared, though, as she said with a shrug, "Big deal."

Shepard considered her. She knew that look; everyone wore it at least once, the sort of look doctors wore when they were looking you over for something wrong. Her hackles began to rise as she waited for him to just say something about how _sorry_ he was, how _horrible_ it must have been, oh you _poor thing_, let me fix y-

He held out his sandwich. "Try it."

She stared at the white bread. The purple stuff - the peanut butter, maybe? - poked slightly out of the side. "Why?"

"New experiences." He grinned. It was the first time she'd seen him smile since they'd returned from the colony. "Unless you're chicken."

"Fucker." She snatched it from his hands and took a bite. Huh. Soft. One of the condiments was sweet, the other smooth and rough. It stuck to her mouth a bit, but in a pleasurable way. When she finally finished the mouthful and swallowed, she stared over to where he was watching and clearly waiting for a response. "It's not bad," she confessed.

Nodding as if it was never a question, he stood back up. "Keep it, since your first one went squish. I'll make another."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "So who's Ashley?"

From her seat, she couldn't see his face. But she could see the way his back tensed for just a moment before his shoulders weighed it back down. "A woman," he said simply.

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that," she said with a bit of a sneer. There was a small twinge of regret for that, though, when he turned back around to face her. The mask from Horizon had made its return.

"A soldier we knew back when I had to stop Saren. She died right before the attack on the Citadel." His sandwich completed, he sat back down. Without missing a beat, he asked, "You ever lose someone?" When she paused at the question, he reminded her, "You said it yourself, I ask a question, you get to ask one back. It goes the other way around, too."

"I don't have to answer it if I don't want to," she retorted. She could feel her nerves, as set as steel.

"I know," he replied. And just then, Jack couldn't decide what was worse; the stupid, confident grin... or this sort of neutral blankness on his face, where he expected or wanted nothing. The smile was natural for him, she'd realized a while ago. It was normal, when everyone else merely used it to get something or to show their own satisfaction. But he wore it constantly. It was the default. It was this empty look, the one he had now, that every day morons wore that was the real fake for Shepard, wasn't it? He had to _force_ himself to be this way... because then he had some thought or feeling to hide, when the rest of humanity was hiding something all the time.

She was glad for it, though; it was relieving that even Shepard had secrets.

"Murdock," she said simply. His name alone strained her voice. "Used me like the rest, for sex, biotics... it was fun. And he ruined everything." When Milo didn't say anything, she continued. It was hard to stop once she got into a rant; the only thing more unstoppable than her biotics was her own damn mouth. "We tagged a weapons frigate with a batarian escort and got separated. He got a choice. Leave with the guns or come back for me."

Her eyes narrowed in memory. The shouting, the screams, the shrieking alarm. It had reminded her of Pragia, confusing her sense of time and place. Next thing she'd known, she had been backhanded and shot in the calf by a batarian. She went down hard, blood all over the floor. Murdock had been ahead of her with the stolen weapons. The calm expectation of being left behind to die had only just settled in when footsteps pulled her out of her daze.

And there had been that moronic face, covered in sweat and filled with worry.

"Idiot dumped the score and waded into the squints."

He'd helped her up, pushed her on ahead. The emergency hatch shut behind her.

"I made the shuttle, but no way he was getting out." Her chest felt tight, and it wasn't the harness. "I fly for a day or so, and the shuttle kicks out this recording." Why is she even telling him this? But her words keep going, faster and harsher, spilling into the silence in the room. "He'd set it to play if he hadn't checked in, figuring that meant he was dead. He talked about the future we were supposed to have, how he'd planned to set us up a _home_, how he-" Finally running out of breath, she paused for air. The air is too fucking dry. "How he loved me and was sorry it wasn't going to happen."

For a few moments, only her ragged breath filled the room as the anger drained out. It left behind something else, the stinging little stuff that she'd never really been able to put a name to. Guilt? No. He'd gotten himself killed. Sadness? What the fuck was the point of that? But it sat there, a thousand little stones of weight in her ribcage, cold and heavy now that the heat of anger was fading.

Jack unclenched the fists she hadn't even realized she'd balled up and looked up to him. He'd cradled his hands and held them up, partially hiding his face. But he wasn't looking away. Pity, concern, disgust, those were all emotions she was used to seeing from people. But the unflinching understanding was unnerving. He knew. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You feel, you get sloppy. It's that damn simple," she said, because that was the lesson she'd learned.

"So you did feel something for him," he asked. No, not asked. He just said it. There was no questioning in his voice. She swung her gaze back up at him and met his eyes as harshly as she could muster. His eyes stood hers down, each one daring the other to blink or glance aside, hot amber brown to cold steel gray. And to her relief, he looked away first, getting to his feet.

"It's late. We're heading to Illium next; apparently we're picking up a drell and an asari."

Jack groaned and rolled her eyes, finishing off the sandwich with two big bites. "It's getting to be a fucking zoo on here," she said through her mouthfuls.

He chuckled. The smile was back, if not quite as strong as usual. "Tell me about it! But come on. I can guess we both need some sleep. Sleep well, Jack."

"Who are you, my damn mom?" she called out to his back, but got no reply. The elevator whirred as it whisked him away. Once the sound faded away, she sniffed, looking down at the table. He'd left his sandwich behind without even taking a bite. Snatching it up, she bit into it, her biotic blood calling for calories. The insides of the meal spilled over her tongue, so cool and sweet. It was a good distraction from the memories now batting for attention in her brain. Murdock as he stared out the window, relief evident in his face even as he was left to his own fate. And the seething anger on Shepard's face the first time she'd heard the woman's name.

Stupid bastards.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Song lyrics are from 'Heavy In Your Arms' by Florence + the Machine, AND ARE NOT MY PROPERTY.


	4. Chapter 3

_...My heart swells like water and waves,  
Can't stop myself before it's too late.  
Hold on to your heart,  
'Cause I'm coming to take it.  
Hold on to your heart  
'Cause I'm coming to break it...  
_

* * *

Jack sat on a box, hidden away in her 'room,' feet pressed up against the wall. For the first time in weeks, she wasn't pouring over a data pad. She'd found what she had wanted the day before; Shepard had already promised to hit Pragia as soon as he fulfilled another request of Samara's that required a bit more urgency... but now a new curiosity had raised its ugly head as she waited for Shepard to return from getting more provisions on Omega. She hadn't been invited along, probably because of the time she'd finally socked that batarian 'prophet' in his talkative mouth. Feh.

Jack could always entertain herself when alone anyway. She typed the words she wanted into her omni-tool's private extranet line, slowly but precisely as it filled out the words she wanted.

_BRING UP NEW SEARCH: Commander Milo Shepard_

The search brought up hundreds of pages on the man. Some were basic info about his history in service, news clips, the few interviews that some gifted reporters had managed to drag out of him. Mostly pictures, though, either professional or uploaded by other commenters. She picked out the video of his inauguration as a Spectre. It was kind of interesting and weird to see him two years before his death; no scar trailing over his left eye, though there were a few others from what looked like gunfire and burns, his entire frame seeming a bit fuller and less wired. The smirk was still there, though, as he faced the alien Council. Of course it was.

_BRING UP NEW SEARCH: Commander Shepard, history_

That one took a bit longer; pouring through fake sites, news stories, gossip rags, the usual garbage. An online encyclopedia for important Earth figures finally gave her a basic run-down.

_Human Milo Shepard, born Earth standard __time__ on April 11th 2154; notable achievements include first human Spectre, one of only two known survivors of the first batarian attack of the human colony __Mindoir__, awarded defender of Elysium, as well as credited as being the 'hero of the Citadel' for his part in thwarting a geth assault led by Spectre-traitor Saren Arterius and saving the Citadel Council. Died year 2183 during unknown circumstances._

Mindoir? She'd heard of that colony...

_BRING UP NEW SEARCH: Commander Shepard, Mindoir_

The first few results were images, gathered up scientifically for the history books. Some included survivors. Well, a survivor. A young man of sixteen looked out from her screen, sitting on a chair at a table in a makeshift tent next to a doctor. His shirt and pants was shreds; dried blood turned its color funny shades. Dirty feet showed how quickly the attack had come; there had been no time to even put on shoes. Shepard was all length at an age before his military training had finally given him shape, red hair cut close to his skull. The cuts and burns around his neck and face were new, visible under the medi-gel slapped on... the picture had to have been taken mere hours after the attack. There was no smirk or even a trace of a smile, just a carefully hidden mask of blank nothing she'd only seen once so far. But Shepard's gray eyes stared out defiantly from the photo.

She knew the expression well. "Fuck you. I survived," it said silently. "_Fuck you_."

The second page of his history detailed his life afterwards without much info. After being sent to an aunt in the New York metropolis until he was eighteen, he'd signed up for the military the day after his birthday. A few more pictures of him in his graduating uniform popped up, all shiny and clean. Added as well was a note about him getting arrested the day after _that_ for inciting a fight in a bar. No deaths but plenty of broken bones and lost teeth. Shepard had suffered a broken thumb and bruised fists. The reason listed? The other man had made fun of his hair.

Jack smiled a little to herself.

_Rap rap rap_.

Her eyes snapped up to follow the sound; three little knocks on the wall just above the last bit of stairs. Speak of the devil and he doth appear. "What?"

The commander didn't come all the way down, walking just far enough down to poke his head in. "Hey. We're getting onto Omega. I want you to come along."

"Afraid of that bitch, Aria?" prodded Jack with an amused grin. She was garnering respect for the man, she'd admit it. But she would freely admit that it was kinda fun to poke his buttons anyway, especially when he gave as good as he got.

Sure enough, he smirked right back and replied, "Hell yes, I am. I'm just trembling in my combat boots. No, actually, we're going looking for an Ardat-Yakshi." At Jack's blank confusion, he explained. Some crazy asari was on the loose and killing kids. So? Apparently the justicar wanted her dead. Again, Jack was uninspired.

"What do you need me for?" she finally grumbled.

"Backup. Samara..." He paused and seemed unsure before finally giving up with a shrug. "It's hard to explain, but it's important to her. I want her focused on the mission, and she needs help with this to get her monkey off her back. But Morinth is supposed to be a pretty damn strong biotic, nearly as strong as Samara herself..."

Jack nodded in understanding. "You want backup in case she goes nuclear."

"Pretty much. And if that fails," he said with a laugh, "well, I hope you've got extra heat sinks for your shotgun."

"Always," she replied in a snap, but an amused one, and got to her feet to follow him up the stairs and to the shuttle. Going all fucking bounty hunter on a asari who killed people with sex? Hey. This sounded fun as hell.

* * *

"This is boring as fuck!"

Samara cast the young human a baleful look as the two shadowed Shepard's steps from out of Afterlife. In his best suit, the one from when she'd helped Kasumi steal her whatever-box, he was arm in arm with the other asari, the one that practically could have been Samara's clone if the old asari were more into bondage get ups.

And something about this one set Jack's nerves on edge. Jack didn't mind killers. Hell, she'd known more than a few rapists, kidnappers, murderers, and such in her life. Some of them were the nicest damn guys and gals, right up until they stuck their pistol against your kidneys, asked for the money and then shot anyway for the hell of it. But this one was... it was something in the air around her. Most killers, Jack included, killed for survival. Money, food, protection, all of it fell under the umbrella idea of "I do what I do because I'm not better at anything else". That, she could understand. This Morinth, though, she seemed to enjoy killing like stuffy white-collar people enjoyed old wine and cheese. As a classy hobby. As something entitled to them for no other reason than because they wanted it.

It was obvious even from her distance that Morinth wasn't simply some little woman holding onto Shepard's arm for support or guidance. It was more like a woman holding onto the leash of a little pet. It made her skin crawl.

Up and up some stairs and into a classy apartment, and Shepard disappeared from sight. "Now what?" she grumbled to Samara. She didn't like this. Sneaking around was not her forte. She liked to see whose face she was going to break before she ran in.

"We wait, if only for now. We must wait until she is secure in her lair. Her guard will be down while she tries to seduce him."

The mental image of the asari trying to romance Shepard popped into Jack's head before she could push it away. Would it even work? He'd probably offer her a beer as she sidled up in her panties. Pillow talk? 'Would you like to come to bed now?' 'Nah. You got a light?'

Heh.

The humor began to fade as they stood by, and her patience thinned along with it. Seconds passing felt like minutes as she waited for Shepard to poke his face out of the door. Or something exploded. With him around, both were likely. But none of that happened, and her faith in Shepard's ability to blow things up began to falter.

"Hey Samar-"

The matriarch stood abruptly, apparently in the same train of thought. "It's been too long," she murmured, a rare trickle of worry entering her voice. Marching up to the door, she tested the lock, Jack close behind her. In possibly the stupidest amount of luck in the galaxy, it slid right open just as a sultry, predatory voice carried out in the air. She caught a glance of the younger asari standing up as they entered, eyes fading from black to crystal blue. Beside her, Shepard slumped, holding a hand to his forehead as he recovered from the attempted melding.

"_Morinth!_" Jack winced as the asari's biotics flared out like flames, engulfing her body as the ardat-yakshi flew back against the glass. Broken shards crinkled to the ground.

Morinth grunted. "Mother."

"Do not call me that-"

Jack and Shepard ducked when furniture flew just inches over their heads as Morinth returned the biotic push with effort.

"Why not? I am your daughter! And I am the genetic destiny of the asari!" the murderer howled, hate permeating her voice even as it cracked like a wounded child's. "But they aren't ready to reveal this." Getting to her feet, Morinth charged at her mother only to be caught in the stasis preventing her from making a blow. The two women locked off against each other, hand to hand, the orb of biotic force between them too bright to even look at. "And for that, I must die."

Samara was clearly strained, grunting out her words as she struggled to say in place. "You... are a disease to be purged... a monster... nothing more! Shepard!"

Jack looked up to Milo as he got unsteadily to his feet, intent clear; if he could distract Morinth just long enough, Samara could finish her. And Jack wasn't the only one to notice.

"A monster am I?" Morinth's teeth flashed, like a snake baring its fangs. "Then a monster I'll be!" And with one gathered force, she turned her biotics on Shepard as he charged, throwing him backwards to the window. The glass, already weakened by Samara's surprise attack, shattered at the force of his impact, giving Jack only a moment to see his stunned face before he fell from sight.

"_Shepard!_"

And against all possible better judgment, Jack dived after him.

The station had no moving natural breeze or gale, but it had air and it had gravity; the speed of it sent a wind harshly into her face, making her eyes squint as she surged after the falling commander. Pushing herself along with biotics to catch up with him, body streamlined to make her go faster, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. It sounded like he had shouted her name, but it was caught away among screams of those on the ground so, so far below. With a grunt of focus, she swung him as hard as she could, pulling him about face in synch with her and grabbing his other arm as the biotics around them both slowed their descent. The effort was hard, though; she could feel her energy and stamina dropping with every inch. It was damn hard to keep herself from getting crushed, but she'd never attempted to 'sky-dive' with another person before. And Shepard was no a fucking pixie.

So when they were nearly six feet off of the ground, she let him drop first before releasing herself. She landed hard on her feet, the impact sending a hard jolt up her legs as boots met concrete, and she fell back on her ass. This was still a fair better than Shepard, who had landed flat on his back. And he wasn't moving. Fuck. Fuck fuck. She reached over and yanked his arm hard. Great. Saved his ass only to have to carry him to the ship. No way she was doing that. None.

"Hey. Hey! Get up, jackass."

Shepard groaned. And to her surprise, he let out a coarse chuckle, lifting his head off of the ground, seemingly oblivious of the growing crowd around them. Omega knew free street theater when it saw it. "Not... not bad," he said, though with a bit of a grimace. And he smiled.

What?

He was seriously grinning? Seriously? Jack's eyelid twitched as she felt a familiar sensation bubble up. It was the sensation of 'I'm going to kick your teeth out and wear them as a necklace'. Her knuckles cracked from the pressure of how hard she squeezed her fists. She just wanted to punch him and punch him_ good_, god dammi-

"Commander."

The two humans looked up to the justicar as she jogged towards them, concern netting over her usually calm features. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

Milo groaned and picked himself up, helping Jack to her feet as he did. He felt a hand along his side, wincing at places. "About as well as falling ten stories from a window then dropped eight feet can leave a man, but I could be worse. Is Morinth...?"

Samara's clear eyes looked away from them quickly. A moment of weakness. "It is done," she murmured. "I would suggest we leave."

The commander nodded and, attempting to straighten up, glanced to Jack. "Thanks. Let's head back to the ship. Damn, I need a smoke."

And just like that, he began to walk to the space port. As Samara followed him, Jack felt chained to the ground, watching him with a bewildered look on her face as the crowd dispersed around her.

She had just saved his ass from becoming Commander Mess On The Ground. And he was walking it off like he'd just had a few too many to drink or something. What was she? Relieved? Insulted? Confused? Still rocking off of the adrenaline? Definitely that last one, at least; she had never before attempted a stunt like that even in all her criminal adventures through space. Excitement and a bit of pride coursed through her, biotics still flaring off of her skin and giving her a shock every time someone walked too close. But Shepard, no, he was just acting like he hadn't just missed death by a matter of fucking feet. He was- he was so-

Jack had just saved his life... and now she wanted nothing more _than to murder him._

_

* * *

_

Well... that had gone well! Everyone was alive. Milo was pretty sure he only had abroken rib from the force of Morinth's attack, and a migraine attack from her attempted space nookie. But... yeah, everyone was alive. Well, the good guys anyway. Mission accomplished and all that, and with that done, he was ready to get the fuck off of Omega and never come back. Not a bad place but memories of Samara's story about Morinth seducing an entire village to defend herself still rang in his ears, and he wasn't willing to see if she'd tried it again on the criminal station. Plus, it stank. He walked unsteadily past the airlock, shouting out to Joker to prep the engines for them to leave. Despite the pain, he felt good about the outturn. A killer was no longer on the loose. Things were looking up.

"You... You _stupid son of a bitch!_"

And before Milo could even conceive the possibility of what was next, he was shoved back against the edge of the navigation system, blue biotics blinding his vision. A grunt escaped him when the hard corner poked him right in the back, sending a stab of pain along his spine before he caught himself from sliding down. As quickly as Jack's shout had exploded the room, an even heavier silence had filled it. The Cerberus crew stared in mixed shock and dread. _Oh great. The crazy one finally snapped,_ they all seemed to be thinking as one, _I knew I should have taken that transfer!_

"What the fuck, Jack?" he grunted, standing up straight again with a glare in his eye.

The woman was still standing, fists balled up so hard her knuckles had gone white where the tattoos didn't cover. Biotics flared up as her emotions rolled and rumbled. "You ass, I saved your damn life!"

"I noticed," he groaned with a frown, getting back onto his feet. "I was there, remember, the whole shebang."

"You could have died!" she shouted, pointing an accusing finger in his direction as the flame of biotics curled around her again. The crew winced together in sync. "That stupid bitch could have killed you before we were even in there. And for what?"

"She was killing people! Killing kids! She had to be stopped, Jack. I knew the risks," he shot back. His own temper was flaring without the theatrics of biotics, but he could definitely feel his hackles rising. "You can do whatever the hell you want, but what missions I choose to lead are _not_ for you to criticize, and I won't be tolerating violence on _my_ ship? You got that?"

Milo expected her to lash out. The next thing he planned on seeing was the floor right before it came into contact with his pretty face. But the impact never came. The pair simply stood and faced each other, eye to eye, neither making a move. It was like facing off against a statue. A very angry, trigger-happy statue.

Jack finally relented with a snort. "Fine! Fucker." And suddenly she was gone, almost sprinting to the elevator and slamming a hand down on the button for the engineering deck. Only when her face disappeared from view did the crew breathe again and, as one, turn to look to Shepard for guidance. Ah, right, time to play boss.

"Everyone back to work. Nothing to see, and nothing to talk about." Yeah, stopping that was about as likely as stopping the tide. But Milo didn't much care as the elevator returned and he walked towards it, Samara silently joining him.

What the fuck was that about? He stared into the wall as the elevator shifted down, seeming to take twice as much time as normal. Elevators seemed to do that. What had she gotten so goddamned pissed over. Morinth hadn't attacked her. Hell, he'd think that getting to jump out of a window and fling her biotics around was usually something she _liked_. He couldn't even begin to understand as he continued to stare at the elevator doors as if the answer would pop up from them any moment now and shout, "Hey, how about this!"

He harrumphed.

"Commander." A strong hand weighted itself on his shoulder with the sort of gentle but firm grip mothers seemed to be genetically programed with. Milo glanced to it and followed the arm up to Samara's face. "You are all right?"

I'm fine."

Samara's eyes narrowed in the tiniest amount. But he knew that look.

"Okay, okay, I'll probably need to get to Chakwas."

"Then I shall escort you." And without much further conversation, she joined him in the elevator, where she proposed an idea.

* * *

Shit.

_Motherfucking shit_.

The metal wall dented under her fist as she gave it a hard punch. Cerberus lackies jumped away as she passed them in the hallway, marching her way down to her spot. Good. If anyone tried to so much as fucking touched her, she was going to paint those gray walls red.

_Bang, bang, bang._ Each sound resonated as she smacked her fist against the wall, her combined temper and biotics leaving inch-thick dents in the walls. But once she found herself down in the safety and darkness of her room, she didn't know why she'd come down here.

And Shepard's eyes still stared out at her from her thoughts. Surprise. Anger. Distrust.

And worse was how she had felt the moment she'd pushed him. How at the very last second, she had been scared, actually _scared_, that she'd hurt him somehow. What the fuck was wrong with her? This wasn't normal, at least not for her, and she didn't like things not-normal-for-her. It was too unpredictable. And she couldn't throw a punch at her emotions.

"Fucking _SHIT!_" She kicked one of the crates stacked up against the wall. It clattered hard against the ground, remaining shut. But the smooth glass ash tray that had been on top fell with it and hit the floor hard; cracking cleanly in half, it slid from where it had fallen and bumped against her foot. Tobacco ash scattered into the air, sweet and gross, filling her lungs as she stood still, breathing harshly.

God dammit.

Her muscles felt loose as she flopped down onto the cot and held her head in her hands. A migraine was fast approaching and her stomach was rumbling loudly now, the typical crazy hunger that came with biotics reminding her of her need for calories. But she didn't want to go up there, not now. They'd fucking stare and whisper and she just didn't want to _deal_ with it right now.

She'd just stay down here in the dark, where no one came, except for Shepard. And she didn't expect him to do that anymore.

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

And yet, as hard as he tried to put things out of his mind, all he could think about was deciding which was worse, the hardness of the floor or the boniness of his own ass.

"Shepard, you don't appear to be taking to this very well."

Shepard opened an eye to the woman sitting directly across from him, both eyes open but glowing with biotic energy that was making the hairs on his arms stand out, a ball of the same color swirling in her hands passively. "It's my first time. I guess beginner's luck doesn't apply to everything."

"Just most."

Heh. Wait, had that been a joke from the justicar? Milo's sense in the universe wobbled. "Sorry."

"Do not worry about it. I merely suggested the practice as a way to soothe you. You have been very tense these past days," she offered, voice flat and neutral. "But it does not work for everyone."

"Hm." He closed his eyes shut again and focused. Breathe in. Breath ou- _What the hell was Jack's _deal_ yesterday anyway? Maybe she's just built up because we're going to Pragia. Except she was fine until Omega. No, not even then. She didn't freak out until Morinth... until she..._

Milo's eyes flew open. "Aw fuck. She's pissed because I almost got squashed, didn't she?"

"I believe there is a human saying for matters like this, commander." Samara paused for a deep inhale and exhale. "Took you long enough."

"But we go into battle all the damn time. And she loves it! Hell, I love it. She's seen me take biotic blasts to the chest, bullets to the face and there was that one time Zaeed lit off that crate of chemicals and damn near burned my hair off." He almost winced in memory at that one. That had been fun. He still had the burn marks on his scalp. "She laughed at that one!"

"We go into battle expecting death. We do not wish it, at least for ourselves and our comrades... but we expect it to occur sooner or later." Carefully, she dismissed the energy ball and closed her eyes, opening them once the glow was gone to stare him down. "This was a situation in which she did not expect it. She was anxious when you did not appear from the apartment quickly."

... Wait. "You're saying Jack... Subject freaking Zero... was nervous."

Samara tilted her head to the side. "You doubt her ability to feel emotions other than anger?"

"No! She's- I know she feels other things." A few images flashed through Milo's mind. Laughter at a joke shared, amusement at the sight of a nice explosion, the frustration in her voice when she described what Cerberus had done to her, the undertone of pleading that she hadn't been able to hide when she had asked to go to the planet of her childhood torment. "I know. Just, why nervous then?"

"Perhaps that is what you should focus your meditation on?" And Samara returned to her own practice without another word.

He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. Good grief, if he wanted to talk to someone cryptic, he'd borrow Kelly's videos on Freud. Asari just gave him headaches. But he was saved by the glorious voice of EDI, popping up like a little blue savior near the door.

"We are approaching Pragia in a few minutes, Shepard."

Yesss. "Good. Tell Kasumi to get ready, just in case we run across any locks still in place. I'll get Jack." EDI popped back out of view as he stood. "Thanks, Samara."

"Thank you as well, commander," she replied softly. "I will never forget what you have done for me. I hope your own quests end successfully... and far happier."

"I..." He sighed with a smile. Vague and mysterious, much? But she probably meant well. "Thanks." And off he went to gather up the other half of the team. Hopefully... she wouldn't paste his head on the walls like fingerpaint. But before he was able to finish the speech he was writing up in his head in preparation of meeting her, he found her in the elevator.

"What-"

She scowled like someone who'd just found dirty gum in their carpet. "What do you want?"

A hundred different things to reply to that came to mind. _You really were worried, weren't you? Why then? Why me? Why haven't you punched me yet?_ What came out was, "Hi."

The convict's brown eyes narrowed and she reached for the elevator button. "Just leave me alone, Shepard-"

"Wait! We're getting to Pragia." Milo waited until he saw her finger hesitate over the down arrow before falling back to her side. He let out the breath he'd been holding in. "Should be there within the hour."

Now it was Jack's turn to be surprised as she stared at him, a mix of surprise and disbelief mixing in her face. "But... I thought after..."

"We all get into fights," he offered, "but I made you a promise to go. I don't break my promises, Jack."

He watched her process it. She hadn't been expecting them to go, had she? Her world operated on a system of pullers and leyvees; to get something, you had to give way to something else, and if you failed, then you probably lost the entire program. Promises were about as real as fairies and space goblins. "You'll still let me blow the place up?" she asked cautiously.

"I'll help you set the charge," he replied.

For a moment, the angry mask fell. It was the first time he could recall seeing relief on her face. "Okay. Then what are we standing around for," she grumbled, and smacked her palm on the button to take her down to the shuttle. He watched her go, unable to decide if what he'd seen was relief at getting to the planet to get rid of some Cerberus mess... or maybe, just maybe, relief that he wasn't angry at her.

And he just wasn't sure which one he wanted it to be.

* * *

_BANG._

Aresh's body hit the floor with a hard thud; blood quickly flowed from the shattered skull, filling in the lined tiles not yet completely overgrown with moss and dirt with red.

Scowling, Milo shook his head with disappointment. The poor bastard could have been helped, maybe. But he doubted Aresh ever would have made it off of the planet; even if he'd managed to escape Jack or even the explosion, he really didn't think Cerberus would tolerate a survivor like him running around trying to use the Blood Pack to start one of their rogue operations up again. Better to end it here, before anymore innocents were hurt.

He looked back up to where Jack was staring out the window into the overgrown courtyard. The pistol hanging limply from her hand still smoked from the shot that had killed her former co-prisoner. "You okay?"

Jack glanced to him from over her shoulder. "It's... I will be. Just, give me a bit. This room was..."

Milo nodded and looked to Kasumi. Bless the thief; she was smart, damn smart, and took the unspoken hint with grace by backing out of the room until the door closed again, leaving the commander and the convict alone. He stood in the center of the room, watching her orbit around him as Jack slowly tracked through the tiny world of what could be called her childhood. The walls, the bed, the desk. Each item, each corner held a story, and she shared it with him, emotionless. She continued the circle two, no, three times. Finally, she came to a stop at the window; staring out the stained panes, he saw a quiver run through her back. Carefully, oh so carefully, he took the few steps to stand beside her.

For a while, neither said anything.

A few minutes after that, he slowly reached for her hand. His skin, still slightly smooth from the work of Cerberus, grated slightly over the rough and scarred texture of her own fingers. The moisture in the humid air made their skin stick. Though she didn't return the gentle grip, he kept it there, staring out the window as she did.

Warmth blossomed in his body when her strong fingers carefully folded over his.

"You didn't have to do this, Shepard," she whispered, breaking the silence at last. When he turned his head to face her, she was already looking to him. In the twilight falling over the planet, already starting to cloak the jagged walls and machinery in shadow, her eyes were bright and wet. The urge to reach over and wipe away the tears he could see standing at the ready was more powerful than he had imagined. But the tears didn't come. He doubted that she'd let them.

_Don't cry_, he wanted to say, _this'll make you stronger, maybe even happier. And don't say that like I ever had a choice. Not when it comes to you..._

Instead he remained silent, keeping his thoughts his own, and pressed the detonation device into her empty hand. She glanced down to it for a moment, maybe reconsidering her plan, before she nodded and headed for the door. He lingered only a short moment before he followed, leaving the body and the faded Cerberus logos behind them. He knew then that this place would haunt him, never as much as it did Jack, but it would.

He couldn't wait to see it burn to the ground.

* * *

And when it was dead and gone, he found himself staring down into some very familiar stairs. But even while he stared off into the silver walls and steps, his mind was back-tracking to the walls and steps of the Pragia facility... and the dozens of little beds inside.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Down we go. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He knocked on the wall and waited for Jack to respond. It took a minute longer than usual but she called out her welcome. She was sprawled out over the cot as he walked down, only opening one eye to observe him as he did. "Hey."

"How're you?"

The reaction was instant, and pretty much what he expected. "I don't need you to check in on me like a kid, Shepard."

"Never said I was, did I?" he shot back without missing a beat. But he simply felt too tired to get roused over the jab. Especially not after that mission. Even with his own history, it had been hard to imagine how one place could fill one woman with so much rage and cynicism. Now he understood; it took the hateful bite out of her words, even as it added a painful sting of its own. "Just down here for my smoke."

"Yeah, whatever." Jack closed her eye. He knew that was a lie, and he had a feeling she knew too.

But to his credit, Milo didn't say a word until he was in his usual spot. He noted with annoyance that his ashtray was missing. Even with his eyes closed against the smoke as he lit the cigarette and puffed on the first few drags, he knew she was watching. "Is it better now that hell hole's nothing but dirt?"

She seemed to consider her words carefully. When she spoke, her words come slow and quiet, as if she didn't trust herself to speak any louder. "Maybe. I don't want that garbage following me. You don't know what it's like. It... it marks you in ways you don't expect."

He sat against a crate as she remained on the bed, watching her carefully. He didn't know... Pictures of a house and field on a distant colony planet, the Alliance fleet flinging itself against a Reaper's might to die on his orders, a woman with dark hair and confident smile, all of them flickered across his memory. "I think I can relate."

She opened one eye a little and stared at him with it. If she wanted to comment on the remark, she didn't, instead replying, "Hard to walk away from it. You'd think it'd be easier with the place being a crater."

Milo shrugged. "Sometimes, I think, the worst things we carry around are in our own heads. Do you think it helped, though, getting rid of the actual buildings?"

"Hm. Still kinda wanna kill everyone I see." The smirk tugged at her lips as she sat up, and humor tinged her voice. "Sorry."

He smiled back, because he knew she wasn't much sorry at all. Well, maybe a little. "Meh. I'll take what I can get. Just restrict it to mercs, crazy scientists and... well, maybe Joker. He owes me poker money."

When it got a laugh out of her, he smiled with some relief. Yes. It had helped, hadn't it? She was joking and even laughing. It was impossible to paste over everything bad, but there were things that could be healed, even for her. Not everything was impossible in this galaxy.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said.

"It was the best I could do."

The smile fell away into a more pensive expression as she stood to face him. "No, you... you did a lot, Milo. More than I expected, especially after... after the shit with Morinth." She was struggling, that much was obvious. The convict looked away, and surprise struck Milo like a slap in the face. Holy shit. Was... was she... was she embarrassed?

"Jack-"

"Just thanks," she said, cutting him off curtly. "Okay?"

His mouth opened but he caught himself. She didn't want to talk. Okay. The feeling of awkwardness was definitely shared; suddenly confronted with a Jack that was admitting to blame and being grateful, it was... it wasn't bad. But it was weird. Just weird. And he wasn't entirely sure how to deal with this one.

* * *

She counted the steps as he left until the hollow ringing of foot on metal died away before she laid back onto her bed. The pads stacked on it were kicked away, forgotten. She didn't need them anymore... but she felt reluctant to return them. All this time... all those years... it was over. The final strings tying her to the dark buildings and blood-covered tools were gone. Gone.

So why did Subject Zero still feel so heavy, weighted down by something on her shoulders?

She held her hands up so the red light haloed out around her fingers, the tattoos swirling over the scarred knuckles and skin. She should have shoved his hand away. She didn't need comfort. The scientists, the guards, all the people in her life who had fucked her over had messed with her good, but she'd come out of it stronger. What the fuck did he think, anyway? That she was weak? Pathetic? ...No. And that's what was so frustrating. Milo didn't look down on Jack, no, he understood because he knew what it was like to have something follow you, no matter the distance or time, and it made it all the harder to get pissed at him. He dealt with his shit. The face of the orphan child of Mindoir flashed in her mind again. Had she looked like that when she had escaped, she wondered. Had she had those same haunted, angry eyes? She couldn't remember the last time she had seen a photograph of herself that hadn't been taken with a copper behind the lens.

But she would admit, the warmth had been good.

Jack rolled over onto her side to get more comfortable and wrapped her arms around herself. Today was over and she wanted it to be. Tomorrow would be a day she could face, knowing that the facility was dead and gone. She allowed herself a smile as she drifted off to sleep, the explosion of the buildings going off like fireworks in the cinematic of her memory.

* * *

Sometimes, you had to let things go to see them come back again.

Milo sat down into his desk chair, towel around his waist as he dried off from his shower. Drops of water from his hair fell onto the keyboard as he stared at it, trying to think of how best to start.

He took a deep breath and began to type.

_Kaidan,_

_This is Shepard. I got your email. About what happened on Horizon-_

He paused, staring at the sentences he'd written down. Just thirteen little words so far...

At least it was a start.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Lyrics are from 'Hardest of Hearts' by Florence + the Machine and are NOT MINE.


	5. Chapter 4

_...Sometimes I wish for falling, wish for the release  
Wish for falling through the air to give me some relief  
Because falling's not the problem, when I'm falling I'm at peace  
It's only when I hit the ground it causes all the grief..._

* * *

"What is it?"

"Just touch it."

"It's so... so small."

Milo groaned with impatience. "Garrus, are you afraid of my-"

"No!" The turian quickly took the thing in question into his long hand. It sniffed his thumb. "Just, it's so _soft_. Nothing on Palaven has this much fur. They'd die from radiation."

"Chafing, chafing, chafing for everyone?" teased the commander in a sing-song tone as his new pet crawled up Garrus' forearm like an explorer on a mountainside, using the chipped and scarred armor for grip-holds.

"Keep laughing, Shepard; someday we'll visit home for shore leave, and you can come back with a nice tan." Garrus caught the fuzz ball as it lost its grip and slipped, narrowly avoiding a collision with the console. "And cancer."

"To hell with you, Vakarian." Milo's face scrunched with thought. "Oh, I still need to name him."

"Well. It's small, hairy, squeaks an annoying amount... You have to clean up its feces..."

The friends stared at each other for only a moment until they both said in sync, "Udina." And then they had a good laugh, at least up until Udina proved to live up to his name. Garrus took the hamster in hand while Shepard grumbled and found paper to pick up the little pellets before disposing of them.

"Why did you even get one? Seems like an odd time to pick up a pet," noted Garrus once Milo returned from the men's room.

"Kelly suggested it. She said having a pet can be good for your blood pressure and stuff. Calming, I guess." He looked down to the little critter.

"But that's why you have fish."

"I think she doesn't know they're all still alive... for some reason, everyone keeps expecting them to up and die." Milo shrugged. "Besides, you can't exactly hold a fish. I think that's the whole point. You have to pet them." He paused a moment and then considered, "I'm wondering how mad Joker would get if I set him loose in a hamster ball on the combat deck."

Garrus rolled his eyes, a gesture he had picked up from Shepard. "You have to find more things to do in your off time than torment the pilot, Shepard."

"I have plenty of things to do, thank you very much." Setting the hamster on his shoulder, he counted them off his fingers. "Cleaning my gun. Re-assembling my gun. Cleaning my armor." The look on Garrus' face told him that these were not entirely acceptable past-times. Hot shit from a guy that was apparently joined at the hip with his calibrations tools. "...Smoking."

If turians could grin, Milo would have labeled Garrus' as a smirk. "Smoking with _Jack_."

Milo arched an eyebrow. That was the second person in under a week to insinuate something was going on with him and the criminal. Maybe it wasn't just the human crew who gossiped. Aliens had just as much a right to be talkative busybodies as anyone else. Then again, small ship, what else were you going to do? "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Just saying, you may go around to talk to everybody, but you spend most of that time down there..." The question went unstated, but Milo could hear it as though it had been.

"We're not doing anything," he argued, his defensive tone sounding petulant in his own ears.

"That's not what the crew thinks."

Ah-ha! The gossipers revealed! "The crew jabbers more than squirrels on coffee." Milo gave it a moment of thought. He did spend a lot of time down there, didn't he? Sometimes he didn't even bring smokes anymore; he just found himself drifting down after a mission, after showering off all the blood and grime, and there she was as if she had been waiting. Sometimes he suspected she _did_ wait for him. Yeah, that was _weird_. Not bad, just odd. And Jack didn't complain about it, at least not as much.

He had to pause and consider that new idea. That lonesome, stand-on-my-own Jack wanted him around. She had been awkward for a while after Pragia, quiet too, perhaps mulling over the reality that the house of horrors was well and truly gone. It wasn't just something you bounced back from. And it took a lot of strength, to willingly go back to a place like that...

A sudden alarm went off in his head as he remembered something. Pragia wasn't the only place with a past.

"Aw fuck," he grumbled, scooping up the mini-Udina and depositing him in his shirt pocket before standing. Stiff muscles complained lightly as he headed for the door. "I gotta cut this short, Vakarian. See you later?"

"Eh, I have some calibrations left, I think." Tilting his head in that bird-like manner most turians had, Garrus asked curiously, "Where are you off to in a such a hurry?"

"Anniversary."

* * *

"The course is set, Shepard."

"ETA?" he asked.

"We are closer than usual due to our rendezvous with Dr. T'Soni. We should be arriving in less than ten hours," replied EDI.

Shepard nodded, satisfied. He'd be there in time. "Don't waste a minute of it. Thanks."

"You're going back to Mindoir, aren't you?"

Milo looked up from the spinning holographic galaxy and over to his right. Kelly stared back up at him, waiting expectantly for an answer to her question.

"Yeah," he replied.

"You go back every year for the anniversary of the attacks. It's in your profile."

The two redheads stared back at each other, one frowning as the other remained blank. Did they teach them that in psych school or something, he wandered. All the therapists he'd ever met had that sort of same expressionless face, usually when they wanted _you_ at your most emotional. "Yeah," he echoed again. "Mind if we take this conversation to the conference room?"

Nodding, she followed after her leader until the two were alone in the wide room. Milo didn't waste his time.

"Okay, Kelly. What the hell?"

She balked at the abrupt question, looking pained, and for a moment he almost felt bad. But he drew the line at being reminded that he'd been dead for two years while his home colony had grieved... Therapist or not. And the fact that she could just list it off as being in his profile like some sort of... some sort of specimen. It didn't anger him, but it didn't exactly sit well with him either.

The yeoman chose her words carefully. "You were gone a long time, Commander. Two years isn't really something to sneeze at. Are you sure you want to go to Mindoir right now? It's a stressful time."

"No kidding. But I'm fine. It's what I do every year. I had an excuse, at least; people can't bitch at you for being dead," he pointed out with a smirk, amused at his own joke.

Kelly only sighed at it, giving him a look that he usually got from female family members when they thought he was being ridiculous. To be fair, he usually deserved it. "Commander. I'm just concerned about whether or not visiting the site will be very helpful for your stress level right now. I suggested the pet to lower your blood pressure for a reason; Chakwas says your body and its cybernetics is having a hard time keeping up with you, emotionally and physically, and has been ever since you came back from Pragia."

The frown appeared on his face before he could stop it, and she clearly noticed. "Is it something you want to talk about?"

"I don't really see a reason to. I shouldn't be surprised at what Cerberus did there, not after that thing with the Overlord project." Still, without permission, rusting tabletops and well-worn medical tools poked up from his memory. "And when they're not messing with live people, it's dead ones."

"Is that it?" probed Kelly. "That Cerberus could do something good like bringing you back, even when they have their hands in projects like Subject Zero?"

And replacing the tools was Jack's face as she contemplated the switch, flipping it open and shut, open and shut. Caught between her past and her future. His shoulders tensed, just as it had every time he considered that moment since then. It was clear to anyone there, even a jarhead like him, that she wasn't just destroying a facility... she was destroying the place that had defined her life. For better and worse.

"Yes," he agreed quietly, "that makes sense."

Kelly nodded, pleased with the progress. "And is it maybe because of how it affected Jack? And caused all of her issues, her anger?"

"Why does everyone talk like she needs to be fixed?" he snapped, turning again to face her. "Like a..." The words failing to come to him, Milo tossed up his hands in frustration. "Like a damn wind-up toy! Like if you just say or do or give her the right thing, suddenly she'll wear long-sleeved shirts, grow some hair and say 'gosh darnit' or whatever the hell it is that normal people do."

He snorted in disdain at his own outburst. "Normal people. I'm a fucking zombie, half my crew are wanted terrorists... I've helped my friends kill their daughter, find their Lord-of-the-Flies obsessed dads, steal greyboxes that could cripple human politics as we know it, you name it. I'd really like to know what fucking 'normal' is anymore, 'cause I don't know anyone on board who fits that description."

Despite the slightly wounded look on her face, Kelly nodded in agreement. "I agree that we're not exactly the most... common crew. But she does have some issues with trust and relationships. We talked about it when you first recruited her."

"I mostly remember us talking about whether or not she'd try to jump me."

The two shared a chuckle and a smirk, the serious tone of the conversation lifting slightly. It was hard to stay mad at Kelly. Part of her super-human yeoman powers, he assumed.

"But she... she's calmed down since Pragia. Maybe she just needed to see that thing destroyed, to see it didn't have to have a hold on her."

Kelly's calm eyes met his, and he could recognize the expression she had... the type where she was struggling not to smile a little. "I don't think it was just Pragia, Commander."

* * *

The human colony of Mindoir was a little place, even after so many years of being an established colony. The buildings were modern but humble, many of them sporting lawn chairs outside with the traditional old men watching everyone go by. The streets were mostly unpaved but for undecorated sidewalk paths. Blue-green grass native to the planet mostly grew in patches, aftermath of how deeply the ground had been scorched and razed from the assault that put Mindoir in the headlines. Most of the potted plants around the front of the homes seemed to be foreign, from Earth or otherwise. The planet's 'autumn' was arriving; a fog was well and settled in even after the sun came up, and a recent hard rain had left the ground wet and goopy.

It was an otherwise cheery scene. Kids played outside of the houses with the latest toy craze, a belt that when used covered the user in cartoony holograms to make them look like pirates, ninjas and other human mythical figures. A few dogs moseyed about in lazy dog fashion. But there were signs of its past; there was a blackened scorch mark on the wall of one building that looked older than the rest, perhaps one of the few that had been left standing thirteen years ago. It was just about the height of a person. Even with her history, after all she'd seen, the knowledge that this place was the birth place for the man who had followed her through Pragia gave Jack goosebumps.

A shadow fell over her as she stepped out of the ship hangar. She looked up to see a transport slowly passing overhead. She recognized the model, an Alliance old type that was rarely used anymore. Super. Of course Shepard would bring them to some backwater hole that still used ships nearly ten years past their due date. It probably didn't even have a bar or something. Just old buildings with burns and mud plastered to the side.

Shit.

The rest of the crew, glad for a quick day off and away from the ship, was already out and about, exploring or heading to the nearby stores. She held back, looking around in the shadowed dock, when a head of hair caught her eye. Red hair. Shepard was standing next to a pair of old geezers, a pair of elderly women, and it looked like he was talking to them cheerily. He glanced over his shoulder for just a second but it was enough for him to spot her. Offering her a smile, he waved her over.

Jack's nose wrinkled in immediate defiance but, she realized, what else was there to do? Even she got tired of being cramped up in the ship all the damn time, and who knew when they'd take leave again. Bah. Shrugging back at him, she sauntered over, taking her sweet time. This didn't seem to faze either the couple or Shepard as all smiled at her as she approached.

"And who's this?" asked one of the women. The pair was like a study of opposites; one was tall and plump and pale, the other small but reedy with dark skin, though both bore the white hair that came with old age and more earrings and bracelets than were probably necessary.

"Jack, meet Rosie and Betty Stoneking. Rosie, Betty, meet Jack. She's on my crew."

"What nice tattoos!" said the taller one, looking over Jack's arm. "I used to have one when I was your age."

"Pfft," said the smaller with a roll of her eyes behind her huge sunglasses. For the first time, Jack noticed she had the same gray eyes as Milo. "And then I had you get rid of it. How was I supposed to get engaged to a girl with the name 'Gloria' inked onto her arm?"

"Now you're just being a tease, Betty," clucked Rosie with a sigh. To Milo, with a look of one used to such suffering, she asked, "Do you see what I put up with, child, while you go play Captain Kirk?"

The commander appeared to be trying not to laugh or grin with amusement, but he only succeeded in the first part. "Oh yes. Monstrous."

"Monstrous indeed! Heh. Ah well. Someone has to like her, I suppose. So are you going to visit your parents, honey? Would you like any help? I was cleaning it up until this month... My hip gave out, I'm afraid, and you know what the cold does to your Baba's knees."

"S'okay," said Shepard with a shrug. "Things happen."

"Things like super secret missions that keep you away for two years without writing your own grandma?" Betty reached out to pinch him and he quickly dodged it. "Go on."

"Grandparents?" asked Jack, following the clues that had been strewn about the conversation as she and Milo walked out of the hangar and through the main street of the town.

Milo nodded. "On my mother's side. They took me in after my family died; they were on vacation when the slavers hit."

"And you guys stayed? Even after that kind of shit from batarians?"

He glanced at her, expression neutral. "There really wasn't anywhere else to go."

The conversation died away as the pair neared the end of the town. The woods surrounding it were alien, the same blue-green color as the grass in the port, For the first time, she found herself wondering why she was following him. ...Lack of things to do, maybe. Except, she told herself, there were probably better things to do than follow Shepard around. He wasn't complaining, though. And she'd already come this far.

So she followed.

The goal was a hill overlooking the colony. It was a little steep, parts of it hidden away by trees with long, sweeping branches. She struggled to recall the name of what they reminded her of. Wills? Illows? Something. Various grave stones covered the slope, round or square, all bearing names and pictures. She paused and stared at one that caught her eye. An angel sat on the stone, covering stony eyes; near its feet, the words 'BELOVED BABY, CHRISTINA SMITH'. The years printed were only eight apart. A breeze was starting to pick up, brushing the long strands of leaves into her face, obscuring her vision. When she pushed them aside, she saw Shepard again. He was standing in front of a trio of grave markers, busying himself with brushing moss and leaves off of the surfaces. Time and weather had ground down the stone a bit, but as she approached, Jack could read names. Hannah. William. Robert.

All three had different years of birth, but they all shared the same year of death. It was the same year as all the other headstones that surrounded them. A granite army of reminders and markers.

Jack stared at it for a moment before asking, "Your folks?"

"Yep," he said calmly, tossing aside a wrapper that had been blown up against his mother's tombstone. The actions seemed to be habit outside of actual emotion. How often had he done this, she wondered, aside from the time he was a corpse? He straightened back up and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, cupping his hands around it to protect the first small embers as he lit it. Smoke curled up and around his face. The scent of sweet tobacco filled her nose.

"Ah," she said, not knowing what else to say. What was there to say? Sorry? It was the right thing to say, according to everyone else. According to morons. Why say sorry for something she wasn't responsible for, for something she could never have stopped.

Instead she asked, "You aren't going to talk or pray to them or something, are you? 'Cause that would be awkward as fuck." The words had gone straight from her brain to her mouth, and it only took a second for her to regret them. Classy. Just classy.

To a little bit of her relief, he laughed. "Nah, it'd be awkward _and_ creepy." Brushing a hand over the smaller stone between those of his parents, the one reading Robert, he added, "My brother. In case you were wonderin'."

"I thought they always took kids. Easier to break, don't cost as much to feed, and they last longer." Harsh but logical, in the most demented of senses.

He shook his head. "My parents gave us a way out. They died fighting the slavers off, but I guess the bastards saw us. I stashed my brother in a hollow tree and went out to send out a signal, at the top of this hill. When I came back with the patrol, he was gone. They probably thought I'd dumped him and escaped." A frown crossed Milo's face, wrinkling the scar across his eyes harshly. "I lived, but only because he died."

Her reaction was almost instant. Scowling at him, she barked, "That's stupid." When he looked back to her, surprised, she continued, "Why is it your fault? You didn't start shooting up the place. You told him to stay put. Only stupid fuckers would blame themselves for aliens attacking their colony."

"A bit like stupid fuckers who go back into the squints for some girl they know?" he asked calmly. When she only stared in reply, he turned back to the grave, kneeling in front of his brother's marker to get some extra moss off.

She watched him silently as he continued to work, seemingly lost to his own thoughts as much as she was to hers. The mist was getting heavier, hanging his hair down heavily with the moisture and giving his exposed skin a shine; the scar over his left eye, the one that she was partially responsible for, was stark and obvious in the setting sun's light. He looked as much at peace as she had seen him, just being next to her in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe that was it. That he was okay with... with her being around but not actually _being_ anything. Maybe that was why she... or how she felt...

Felt...

It wasn't the fact that he paid attention to her. Lots of people did that, for lots of different reasons. She had grown up under a microscope of attention to the point where having the world's eye turned to her no longer bothered her because she knew the entire time that they weren't really looking at her, they were looking at whatever they wanted her to be at that moment. It had been infuriating at first, when she had escaped, to see how much like Pragia the outside world really was; in her hundreds of daydreams, she had expected something... better. She had rebelled against it before falling into the flow. Easier to survive that way.

But when he looked at her, she didn't see the expectations that everyone else demanded or expected. And he remembered everything she told him, not just the stuff that was valuable for him, but the little stuff too. He actually gave a damn, he put in the time to _care_. What was she supposed to do with that? It felt like too much responsibility to be the sort of person that he thought she was... or the kind he made her want to be. It was too hard. And if she failed, _when_ she failed, just how bad would it hurt?

"Shepard-"

And when he turned to face her, as she took a step closer, her foot slipped.

With a surprised yelp, Jack reached for the first thing that she could get a hold of. What she could get a hold of was him. Not expecting the sudden weight, and on wet ground himself, Milo lost balance. The two shouted and struggled and, too fast for either to recover in time, both fell into the mud with a squishy_ thud_. There were probably better comments to be made, but the one that she made was, "_Oof._"

Jack winced. She could feel mud and snow slipping through the straps on her chest, giving her chills. Great. Just fucking spectacular. Should've brought a coat.

"Er..."

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing that came to her sight was the dizzying red of his hair before the whole picture came into view. She had landed on top of him, saving her from getting the worst of the splattering dirt and wet grass. He, however, had taken the worst of it; she heard him curse as mud trickled into his collar. A dislodged little flower was plastered across his cheek, blue on white.

"I slipped," she said defiantly, as if she had to defend herself, scowling down at him.

"Right," he replied, unfazed.

"I'm getting off."

"You're _what_?"

Jack hissed. "_God damn you, Shepard, that is not what I meant_-"

A raspy little giggle interrupted the pair. As one they looked up above them to where Betty stood with picked weeds in her arms. A large, toothless grin was on her face as the tiny lady jeered, "We have a hotel in town now, you know! Don't get too dirty, it gets mighty cold out here. Come on, child, Rosie's making pie if you want some." And with the sort of cackle only women of a certain old age seem able to accomplish, she turned and scuttled away, leaving the commander and the convict staring after her in a daze.

Shepard coughed and sat up, holding onto Jack so she didn't get shoved off of him and back into the dirt. "Hm. Well. I- Ow!" The complain arose from a rather sharp punch to his arm before Jack got to her feet. He grunted and rubbed the sore spot where she'd hit him, frowning up at her with confused annoyance. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

"Because I felt like it," she replied back with an apathetic shrug. She didn't feel bad for it, though. The corner of her mouth twitched against her will.

"Jackass."

"Fucker."

And that fucker just grinned.

* * *

Milo leaned out of the shower to peek into the mirror. There was still mud on his head, despite a second shower, sticking in the crevices of his ears and along his hairline. He groaned and continued to scrub harder until his hair disappeared into the froth of bubbles when the message alert went off on his private system. "Who is it?" he called out to the computer.

"Liara T'Soni."

He paused. How long had it been since he'd helped her take the Broker's base? About a week... What could she have to call him about? 'Help me Shepard, the old broker's back and now he's a space vampire!'. Ah, that'd be his sort of luck. "Put her through."

The asari's familiar face was there on the screen once he had rinsed out the lather and put a towel around his waist, approaching the desk. Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of blue at the sight of his bare chest. "Shepard!" she squeaked.

"T'Soni," he replied, taking a seat. Admittedly, seeing her flustered was amusing. Awww, the lady old enough to be his great-grandmother was blushing like a teenager. "What's up? Something wrong at the base?"

Overcoming her surprise, she shook her head. "No, no. I just... I was going through information tagged to you first, to see if the Shadow Broker maybe knew anything about the Collectors in relation to your mission. But what I found was... was..."

Milo tilted his head to the side, frowning but remaining patient. The woman could plant bombs and chase down Spectres, but the littlest blue nerd didn't seem to have mastered conversation yet. "Was what?"

"Shepard. I know where your brother is."

* * *

Lyrics are from 'Falling' by Florence + the Machine and are NOT mine.


	6. Chapter 5

_...Now there's no holding back, I'm aching to attack  
My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out  
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound  
I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground..._

* * *

Mornings. Augh, fuck mornings. Didn't matter whether you were ground-side on a planet, on a ship or even just waking up from years-long cryo. Mornings universally sucked ass. Especially as a coffee person. But waking up early gave Jack the benefit of avoiding the Cerberus lackies while they munched on toast. So she made a habit of it, enjoying the quietness and solitude before the onslaught of Illusive Man wannabes. But when she walked out of the elevator and turned the corner, she realized that she was not alone this morning.

Under the one light still on, at the table nestled between the arches in the center of the room, sat Shepard. From the looks of it, he was either caught up in thoughts, or attempting to stare through the table and doing badly. He was still in that black and white uniform, and it was wrinkled with use. A new glass ash tray sat to his right; three crumbling cigarette butts huddled together inside. On his other side were a number of data pads stacked carelessly on top of each other. Jack scowled at the scene, trying to make sense of it. How long had he been up? Had he even gone to bed at all? She paused to watch him before she took a step forward, but the sound of her heavy boot on the metal floor gave her away. His head snapped around to face her like a puppet's.

"Jack?" He blinked hard and rubbed at the corners of his eyes. "What... what are you doing up so late?"

"Late?" The convict made a face at him that she hoped more than showed her distaste at his abilities at time awareness. "It's five. As in A.M.? In the morning."

"Holy shit, you are kidding me." He grumbled and, stubbing out the burned out stick into the ash tray too, wiped a hand down his face. "I gotta get Miranda to put some clocks in here. Or something."

With a shrug of indifference, Jack made her way to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. "So what're you doing up so late?"

"Early at this point," he replied with a tired snort.

She scoffed right back. "Quit avoiding the question."

He didn't reply in the time that it took her to put sugar into her mug and take a seat across from him, turning it around so she could lean against the back while still facing the marine. When she gave him a hard stare, Milo sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. Out of its usual rat tail, it curled around his neck and jaw messily. Not a bad look, she mused.

"I've been thinking about something Liara told me."

"The blue chick, right?" she said, recalling the asari from the mission to kill the Shadow Broker. Christ, those eyebrows. "What'd she say?"

He glanced up from the pads, fixing his eyes on her. They just looked... tired. But she wasn't sure it was just from the lack of sleep. They had the look of someone who was making decisions, and had always been making the decisions, and just needed a damn break. "She says the Broker thought my brother was alive. That the batarians have him."

Jack scoffed disbelievingly. "What? No. How? That was like, what, over ten years ago?"

"Seventeen as of last week," corrected Shepard as he tossed a pad aside. "And it's only a rumor of a rumor. She got it off of the old Broker's files on me. Apparently he was holding on to them in case he ever wanted to blackmail or bribe me over to his side, but we worked too fast for him to do anything with it. Stupid frog. But they only have a supposed location, no pictures, no vid, no nothing..."

He cut his sentence off with a drag of his smoke, but she could hear the word he hadn't let himself say. So she said it instead. "But...?"

"But... I want to go look."

"Sounds like a damn goose chase."

"It probably is," he agreed. His eyes traced back to the pads and he picked one up lazily, turning it over and over in his hands. "But a lot of stuff in my life has become one big luck of the draw after another. Survived the batarians - did that twice actually - kicked a Reaper's ass, died and came back..." With a teasing smirk, he winked at her through the cigarette smoke. "Hell, you've been on the ship almost a month and nothing's exploded yet. I must have good luck."

She didn't acknowledge the heat in her face. Not one bit. "So go."

He tossed the pad aside. "We might not have time. We've wasted enough time as it is, running around doing the Illusive Man's little chore list. And-"

"And what?" asked Jack, interrupting his little tirade of what-ifs. "You've done shit for everyone else. I mean, come on, some of it was trivial and you know it. But you did it, so you're owed something. Give and take, right?" She turned sideways into the seat and leaned against the armrest with her feet on the chair across from her. Sipping at her coffee, she added, "I said I owed you. I do. So if you want something done, you've got the firepower, let's go get it the fuck done. If there isn't anything to find, too bad. If there is..."

She let the words hang, because they both knew what the possibility was. He looked down at the pads full of requests and information from Cerberus, and then back to Jack. He puffed out a final plume of smoke and sighed. But it sounded like a relieved one. "Well, I better let Joker know then, shouldn't I?"

"So. Do we get to shoot some assholes?"

An amused smile slowly crept back onto his face. "A whole bunch of thieving, murdering bastards who deserve it and more."

"Explosions?" she asked with a twinge of hope in her tone.

He gave her a wink. "We can only hope so."

Jack grinned wickedly. "Well, shit, it's just like Christmas or something, isn't it?"

* * *

Shepard wasn't sure how the Cerberus techs had managed to get the runabouts into the enviro-dome that supplied breathable air and artificial gravity on the asteroid, but he wasn't going to question it. They had their jobs, he had his. The long ride in the _Kodiak_ had been slow and quiet to keep sensors and scouts unaware, while the _Normandy_ remained out of sight up in orbit. Nearly the entire team had been fit into the shuttle; not an easy feat at any time, especially when one was a krogan. But not a word had been shared other then what was needed to get everything in place. No jokes, no fighting, not even a sarcastic comment from Kasumi. Shepard felt all their eyes on him. This wasn't just a normal mission and they were all aware of it, he had made sure of that, and they all knew the cost if they failed. The bar of expectation was already high. Maybe that was why he could feel the tension in his body with every move.

Stepping down from the shuttle and onto the ground, he watched the gray-blue dust lightly stir around his boot before looking up to the new sight that awaited him and the team.

The 'astral location' from Liara's files was in actuality an asteroid. Once an Alliance mining base as well as one of the first asteroid-based facilities outside of Citadel space for humans, it was nearly six miles long and twice as wide. It circled through the abyss of the system with a ring of like-minded rocks, nothing pretty but rare in that it was rich in precious metals desired by most Citadel races. But it hadn't remained in the hands of humans for long. Tereshkova Base had been its first name; in batarian hands, now it was Min'kar Chrem, and had been for nearly three years. His translator interpreted it as 'the reclaimed place' in their dominant tongue.

Personally, from looking at it, Milo would have called it Hell.

The visible buildings were not very high, but the pits and caverns were deep, riddling the ancient rock and ice like holes in cheese. Every so often, there was a shuddering explosion from somewhere underneath his feet. He wondered how much of it was construction, and how much of it were old tunnels collapsing on top of hapless workers. The local star was a distant dot, leaving them in near pitch black. Even Thane and Garrus, their eyesight slightly better than humans in the dark, were having difficulty seeing past their face**s** without help. Pulling down the visor on his helmet would give him decent night vision and heat detection, but he didn't like it as well; he just didn't trust looking through inch-thick glass, preferring to take his shots with the naked eye. Technology could lie. So could his eyes but, hey, at least he only had his own parts to blame that way.

"Hey."

Milo turned toward the voice... and stared.

Jack noticed the boggled look on his face and gave him a dirty look through her own visor while she tugged with annoyance at the edges of her long-sleeved shirt. "Yes, I have clothes. I get fucking cold too, you moron."

He snorted, barely stifling a laugh. "And yet you tried to get onto the Migrant Fleet without one? Cunning."

"Keep yapping and I'll shut that pie hole for you," she threatened but without enough malice to convince him to be worried. Still, he took the hint anyway and stepped out ahead of the team as they prepared. Thane was kneeling at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the mining pit down below, watching through a pair of binoculars.

The drell, not bothering to look up, handed them to Shepard as he approached and pointed down south, toward a large cluster of lights. "There. The encampment."

Milo nodded and peered through the binoculars. Through the slight haze of night-vision, he could make out the shabby buildings that were about as jagged and bleak as the rock and ice that surrounded it. Aesthetics were not a primary concern; they were just well enough to remain standing and give some shelter against the freezing cold, but they were still as bleak as the asteroid they sat on. Machinery large and small were scattered about, and he spotted at least one crate with a warning for explosives. Further down the dirt road was another encampment. It looked to be better build than the rest, complete with a launch pad and garage. The slavers' quarters, perhaps?

And directly below, the prominent driving force was bared for the eye to see, without shame or respect.

Slaves.

Humans were the favorite race of choice for batarians as a matter of both spite and logic. They were tough, plentiful, and all too eager to explore past the Council's safe space. Turians had military training as part of their culture, and asari were born with natural biotics; that made both races valuable for endurance and heavy lifting, but slave keepers never held more than a few of either in case they got it into their scaly heads to band together and revolt. Salarians were just too damn smart and short-lived to bother with except for delicate work. Quarians and hanar and volus were wasteful, expensive, too delicate for lasting for long. Krogans? Hell no, just forget it. Drell were easy to keep, physically fit, but hard to find; Milo could only see one from his spot out of the dozens and dozens of men and women down below. There were even a handful of batarians as well; slavery had been a part of their race's accepted culture for far longer than they had been in space, so seeing how they treated their own people didn't surprise him.

The whole lot was bandied together in cramped quarters, shoveling out rock and ice to one side with another line carefully sifting through the soil for traces of anything valuable. Far in the back were fenced in areas, with exhausted workers huddled around a fire for warmth as they briefly rested. There were no guards, which didn't surprise him either. Where would they go? Who would help them? And as much as he strained, Shepard could not see a single head of red hair among them.

Scowling, he handed the binoculars back to Thane. "I want you to dispatch any guards or whoever might resist, quiet and fast. I want Kasumi to take down any surveillance crap they might have down there. Take Garrus and Jack with you for backup."

"So we are using force, then?" murmured the assassin, looking down as he readied his weapons.

"If necessary. Nothing too sloppy. We want to get in and find what we came for without raising too much of a ruckus. You guys hit the slave area, I'm going to hit the transport area itself, make sure that no word gets out"

Thane paused in reloading the rifle and glanced back towards him. "Shepard. If I may make a suggestion."

"Can't really stop you, Krios."

Ignoring the jibe, Thane replied, "Do not let yourself forget what you came to find."

Milo turned to look back at him, eyes narrowed. "I know what I came here for."

"Your brother, yes, that is what you've said." Even through the heavy red lens of Thane's mask, he could see the alien's wide eyes watching him, studying him. "But from someone who has gone on his own quest for vengeance... do not do anything you will regret later on."

Nothing was said between them for a moment as the human considered the words. Milo knew Thane spoke with experience, and not just about batarians. He didn't say any of this out loud, however, only nodding in acknowledgment of the advice and ordering, "Head out. We'll catch up."

Thane didn't argue. Milo didn't even hear him leave before the assassin was gone, with the assigned team members with him. Staring down at the camp, Milo mused on the drell's words. They'd rung true, but on a bitter tone. "And with all due respect, Krios, I'm aiming to make sure they regret what they've done," he murmured and got to his feet. Facing the rest of the crew, he gave them a curt nod and began to lead the way down into the terrible darkness.

* * *

Hunkering down as stealthily as a krogan could, which is to say not at all, Grunt fidgeted from his spot overlooking the slaver camp. Covertness was not his specialty. "Hm. Lots of slaves down there, battlemaster. Might get in the way in a close fight."

Milo closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Patience. "Hey Grunt."

"Hrm?"

"Remember how I told you about how, sometimes, things are better left unsaid 'cause they're just not socially tactical?"

"Was that one of those times?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm."

Shaking his head, Milo pointed down to the camp. "Go. Leave one alive."

The young krogan nodded. And with a roar completely lacking in tact, social or otherwise, Grunt charged in, barrelling down the rockface with trusty shotgun in hand, the rest of the squad behind him. His voice echoed off of the stone and metal buildings, only adding to the effect of sound when he smashed through a shelf and into the clearing. Guards and slave drivers looked up in shock as the young krogan came racing at them with a speed one wouldn't expect from something his size. But they had just enough time to realize that perhaps they shouldn't be standing around stupidly before Grunt was on them, one fist swinging as the other quickly ducked for his gun. But not quite fast enough. While Grunt busied himself with the fool that thought a krogan would submit to the equivalent of a love tap on the cheek, Milo had been aiming his own weapon. The second batarian's head burst and his body crumpled. And because Garrus wasn't around to say it, Milo smirked to himself and murmured, "Headshot." But it was only a moment before he was back to work, running forward to find another spot to shoot from while the ground force did their work, distracting with their presence while the ones left behind picked off the rest. Blood spattered the icey rock, but he was pleased to see that none of it was his squad's. All batarian. A small twist of pleasure flared in his chest before he pushed it away with a guilty afterthought.

When it was all done, at least for the moment, Grunt had managed to keep his blood lust in check; once Milo and the rest of the team had caught up with him, he was holding a prisoner like a child holding a kitten by the scruff. He dumped a batarian in front of Milo like a present. The four-eyed woman had been bloodied badly, one eye swollen shut, and wire wrapped around her to keep her still. But the commander found it hard to care much for her condition. It wasn't her eye he wanted, it was her tongue.

"Tell me the whereabouts of a slave," he snapped.

"And why should I?"

Milo's gray eyes narrowed to slits. "Because I'm asking politely. But if you don't feel up to chatting, I can let my friend ask instead."

The prisoner's working eyes all looked up to Grunt. While Milo could not see him as he continued to stare at the prisoner, he _could_ hear the distinct crack of the krogan's knuckles, that nice threatening sound that seemed to cross many troublesome language barriers. The batarian blinked quickly, her multiple eyes still darting between Shepard's gaze and up to Grunt as one nervous movement, before she grumbled, "L-look, I don't keep track of the slave orders, that's Captain Rezelda. Ugly man and hard to miss, he's scarred like an alpha vorcha, that one. He's living less than a mile out from here; there's a shanty town, the owners and their families. We're-we're just the shipping outpost, I swear!"

"Families? Out here in this hell hole?" wondered Jacob. Milo could share the sentiment; he couldn't imagine even batarians wanting to drag their kin through this frozen rock.

_Then again, they drag other peoples' kids through it, so why not their own?_ seethed the hateful voice in the back of his head.

Out loud, he barked, "Everyone, head out."

"And I get to leave? Right?" asked the prisoner nervously.

Milo turned his eyes back on her. A few choices went through his head. She had cooperated, if not entirely willing. Yet, if she ran back, she could alert the entire compound. He'd had more than his fair share of batarian groups attacking him head on in his past, and he didn't care to relive it if he could avoid it.

"Tali, you stay with the prisoner. Miranda, you go around by east, I'm going west, alone," he instructed coldly, getting back up to his feet. "Treat her fair. But if she so much as spits the wrong way, you have my permission."

Tali'Zorah nodded somberly and, perhaps with a bit of stage emphasis to spook the prisoner into complacency, rested her hand on her holstered pistol. Judging from the batarian's rapidly paling face, the move worked rather well. It was hard for Milo to hide a smirk before he could turn his face away and, the rest of the ground team beside him, they began their walk toward the camp while the batarian's voice trailed behind them.

"Permission? Permission to do _what_?"

* * *

Chaos. Awful, beautiful chaos.

Batarians screamed and shouted with rage as Jack made her way through them without a thought to stop. In just one stroke of bad luck, the sort that their ragtag lot always seemed to encounter, they had been spotted. Thane had shut up the one who had caught sight of them, but not before the guard had gave out a shout and raised the alarm. Oh well. Scouting was boring anyway. Now her fingers were slick with blood and gore, not her own at least not yet, and slippery on her shotgun's trigger. Every so often she saw a subtle flash of biotics or heard the crack of bone nearby, and there would be a batarian dead before it could get any closer to her. She had to admit, she preferred to be a little more showy than Krios, but damn he was efficient.

A blue shape appeared suddenly from behind a wall. She swung the gun at it, so overloaded with adrenaline that she barely restrained the urge to shoot. Garrus kept his hands on his own rifle as well and gave the sawed-off shotgun a dirty look. "Watch where you point that thing."

"Don't fucking surprise me, turtle head," she griped, but lowering it all the same.

Ignoring the racial jab, he nodded his head to the south and said, "Go find the slaves. Batarians will always try to shoot them if they can; no witnesses left to give names or faces, you know. They're in danger."

For a moment she scoffed. Fuck that, there were way more chances to fight here. But her conscience reminded her who she was here for and what she owed him. He was counting on her. "Right." Leaving Garrus to defend her back, she turned to run down the hill and toward the dimly lit pens. IN a turn for the better, no guards yet. Perhaps they had simply caught them too quickly to let them consider the fact that they had more than a hundred damning pieces of evidence still drawing breath down in the pits.

It seemed the sound had carried farther than she suspected. Though there were no guards, the process lines where the prisoners stood and sorted ore were abandoned. A cart full of icey rock stood alone, full, as if it had been being used only moments ago. There wasn't a soul in sight. Jack scowled as she looked around. Was she wrong? Had they already rounded them up and taken them elsewhere? Maybe they were already as good as dead, and Shepard's brother along with them. Growling with frustration, she took it out on the mining cart, giving a good enough kick with biotic force to knock it over, spilling its contents everywhere. But over the sound of rattling rock and dirt, she heard a gasp. Jerking her head to the direction of the sound, she saw something quickly dart away behind one of the flimsy huts.

Ahh.

She walked up to the scrap heap and shoved a sheet of metal aside. "Hey."

Exposed to the light, the group of ten or so people pressed back against the rock face, their hands and arms around their faces. Looking around at the cowering slaves, she tried to fight off her impatient temper. Fuck, some of them could barely stand, did they even know what she was saying? Cautiously, she tried, "You seen a human kid around here? Red hair. Pink skin. Probably, I dunno, twenty or something? His name's Bobby-"

"They put Bobby in the cage."

Jack turned around to face the ragged voice. A drell was slowly approaching her, walking gingerly on bare feet. His green skin was pale and flaking from poor health; it seemed he could barely stand without swaying and walking was an endeavor. But his large yellow eyes fixed determinedly on her face. "The cage," he whispered again, voice faltering as he occasionally coughed harshly. "He dropped a load... dropped a load on the master's foot. Can't do that. They beat him with the sticks. The hot sticks." He placed a palm over an open infected burn on his own wrist, stung by the perfect drell memory of what the pain was like. "And they took him away."

"Where's that at? Where's the cage?"

The drell pointed further into the garrison, to a clearing Jack had seen when they had first flown in. "In the center, so all of use could see."

She nodded and pointed to the alcove where the rest of the slaves continued to try to hide. "Cool. Now get out of my way and stay hidden. Okay?" When the drell nodded and went to join them, she turned to run towards the clearing. Her shotgun was held close, just in case her suspicions of any nearby slavers turned out to be true. But, no, not a single soul except for the one she found in the center of the ring. The silence was piercing, and more than once she just wished someone would pop out if only to interrupt the creepy lack of gunfire.

The back of the wired cage was absolute pitch, but once her eyes had adjusted, Jack spotted movement. A shape huddled in the corner, curling into itself, trying against all possibility that maybe they wouldn't be seen. She turned her flashlight into the dark, hoping and yet not hoping she would find what they had come for. But, yes, sure enough... the light fell on a shock of clipped red hair. The stretched skin over thin bones, marked with more burns and cuts and bruises just underneath the new ones, didn't shock her as much as it should have. She had, after all, grown up with such ghostly-looking children in her own youth.

But the wide, haunted gray eyes that stared out at her from behind his fingers were a kick to the gut she hadn't expected. She had seen those sort of eyes before too, staring out from a two-way mirror when she banged and pounded on the glass at the other kids. The sort of eyes that begged for help, but expected none, and had long since given up doing so.

Shepard's brother cowered further against the wall. He whimpered when she reached for him and tugged him closer but gave no fight, either too weak or too scared to try. It would have been better if he had, she mused, at least then she could be annoyed. Annoyance was easier than this overwhelming pity in her thoughts. Goddamn, her hand fit around his entire wrist.

"Hey, you're gonna be fine," she offered, keeping her voice soft and slow. "Milo's here."

If the name of his sibling comforted him at all, it didn't show. Bobby remained as far back as his arm would allow him, staring at the floor passively. For the first time, she noticed the scars. What skin the rags that worked as his clothing didn't conceal was covered in them, red and angry from lack of treatment, varying in size and shape. More and more, revulsion gnawed at her, because it was too familiar. They weren't all that different, were they? Only she'd fought back. But only because, she realized, she'd been conditioned to. She had been fed, taught to fight, to survive. They'd never had the chance.

She reached out with her free hand, her hand easily wrapping around his upper arm. Bobby shivered, but otherwise made no move as she carefully pulled him closer and picked him up into her arms. Perhaps he understood then or he simply craved the heat from her body and clothes, but she could feel him relax as she started to find her way back to the others. She managed to reach her omni-tool with her fingertips and signaled to Thane.

"I've got him."

* * *

Luck was on their side, it seemed. The main camp had not yet been alerted; the surprise attack on the shipping base had been too quick and sudden for them to do anything but try to defend themselves. So it was silence that greeted Milo and his group as they approached. There was no idle banter to ease his nerves, nor did he consider starting it up. All his focus remained on the buildings and lights as they weaved their way around them. It wasn't like they hadn't been in more dangerous assaults; he could think of more than a few just off the bat. Exploding ships, check, cloned krogan army, check, Grunt going through puberty, check. Hell, even the Skyllian Blitz had been worse than this... but he couldn't recall being so nervous. So on edge. And when he closed his eyes to stifle it, all he could imagine was the face of the one he'd come for. He couldn't fail this one. There simply wasn't room for error.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, and pressed a finger to his omni-tool to signal Miranda's team. And without a word, he and the rest of his teammates headed into the camp.

The minutes blurred into seconds as soon as he put a foot forward. Someone screamed with surprise. That scream led to more, to shouts of alarm, to batarians running from doors and escaping through windows like rabbits out of the bush. Some of them were still in bedclothes, others only half-dressed. It was a humanizing aspect that he'd never seen before, though he was aware that it had to exist, but seeing it was startling. He made no secret about his dislike for them. Too many times he'd seen them running straight for him with a gun or knife in hand, ready and willing to kill him. His reaction now was the same reaction he had then, though. Any who resisted were shot, the rest forced down where they could do no harm.

He grabbed one prisoner being held by Jacob, holding the shorter alien up by their collar. "Where is Rezelda?"

"Fuck you, two-eyes," spat the batarian.

Why did being polite never work? For his inability to cooperate, Milo gave him a hard punch to the jaw. The batarian reeled and fell back to the ground with a gasp. Shepard saw Jacob's look out of the corner of his eye, the reproachful stare, but didn't give it another thought before he was demanding again, "Where is Rezeld-"

But the second he had taken to look to his teammate was long enough for the slaver to get back to his feet and launch himself at them. Jacob reached for his pistol as Shepard grabbed the attacker by the wrists. The batarian cursed and swore, trying to kick at Shepard aimlessly. Grunting as the weight of the alien threw off his gravity, Shepard struggled with the man until he managed to put some distance between them. Just enough for Jacob to take a safe shot; the slaver's head slung to the side as his head burst wide open. His visor protected him from the splatter, but still, Milo could imagine other things he'd rather see than brain matter all over his sights.

"You okay there, commander?" asked Jacob as he replaced the heat sink in his weapon.

Milo groaned disdainfully as he tried to wipe off the fluid from his visor with his forearm. It didn't help much. Christ, he was going to start issuing official Cerberus hankies. "Thanks, Taylor."

The former soldier grinned. The smile was that infectious one you only ever saw in fire fights. "Somebody's gotta watch your back, sir."

It was a brief moment of relief until a booming shot went off. Bullets struck the ground around him erratically. Instinct and training made Shepard duck just in time, but Jacob didn't have such luck. Milo heard his teammate cry out in pain, and when Milo glanced toward him, he lay on the ground, groaning with his hand pressed to his shoulder. His shields flickered on and off, barely functioning. Gun ready, Shepard looked through his scope toward the direction of the sound. A lone batarian stood on a hilltop, rifle still steaming from the ejected heat sink, and when he grinned Milo could see the way the scar on his face from ear to ear wrinkled.

Rezelda.

Swinging his gun up and setting his eye to the scope, Shepard aimed and shot.

The slaver jerked backwards from the impact, falling to the ground out of sight. But it had only been a shoulder wound. Shepard cursed himself for not getting a head shot but got back on his feet. "Jacob! Can you-"

"I got it covered, commander," grunted the other man. He was already sitting up, digging into a pocket for medigel. "Don't lose him."

Nodding in agreement, Milo made a line for Rezelda's spot as the fight continued to rage around him with Cerberus and his team pushing them back. Behind him, he could hear Miranda barking out orders. Just him and the slaver then. Good. He preferred it this way.

The batarian lay on the ground, hands pressed to his shoulder. Unlike Jacob, he'd had no military-grade shields or armor to protect him. Blood pooled out under him freely, rippling with his every increasingly ragged breath, as his body curled up defensively. But there was no disguising how disgust replaced agony on his face when he saw Shepard approaching. Immediately he reached for his weapon but Shepard had seen it first. He stepped over the gun and slammed a foot onto the slaver's hand, hard, feeling the wet crunch of breaking fingers under his boot. The batarian screamed anew.

"Where are the human slaves?"

"We have none," gasped the slaver between pained groans.

"And I'm the goddamn queen of the Citadel," replied Shepard, pressing his heel down harder. Once Rezelda's yelps of pain had subsided again, he repeated, "Where are the human slaves? One in particular. Red hair, should be about twenty."

Rezelda said nothing and only spat at him. Saliva and blood splattered onto Shepard's breastplate and dribbled down in ribbons. "Fuck you. They'll all be dead soon anyway. Every last waste of a credit." He grinned. He seemed to have realized that his lies wouldn't save him, but he was at least intent on cursing his enemy if these were his last moments. "At least I know I'll take my investments with me."

Every word struck at Shepard like a poker, driving deeper and hotter. He hadn't expected that they might kill the slaves to cover their tracks. He had been so ready to rush in and find Bobby that he had only put him at risk, hadn't he? He'd allowed them to play him like a fiddle. God damn it. _God damn it._

"Commander-"

Miranda's approaching words were drowned out with a swoosh of air and the solid crack of Shepard's rifle butt colliding with the slaver's face. The batarian fell on his side with a shout of surprise, instinct making him curl up to protect himself but not quick enough to avoid the swinging kick from the commander's boot into his gut. Blood was already starting to dribble from his pug nose, and it sprayed out across the stone when the kick forced out the air in his lungs.

Milo's voice was a snarl, a howl of hate, as he shouted, "You son of a bitch. _You son of a bitch!_"

"_Commander!_"

But Miranda's voice was a faraway thing, just a distraction, overwhelmed by the rushing surge of anger in Milo's head. No, anger wasn't a strong enough word. Anger could empower, push you, give you a reason to care about something else. The only word he had for the seething, festering force in his heart and head was _hate_. Hate for this stupid little man and his god damned species and their disgusting ways, for this goddamned asteroid and all the misery that went deeper into the fucking earth than the minerals they dug for at the cost of blood, at damn near everyone and everything still on the piece of shit. He grimaced at the force of the emotion; the cybernetics in his face and body were all too present, heavy and hot.

Leveling the rifle against his shoulder, Milo put a boot to the batarian's chest and aimed down the barrel to his head. He didn't deserve to live, did he, this miserable monster. How many people had he worked to death here? How many lives had he and his bastard lot destroyed? He didn't _deserve to breathe_-

"Father?"

Milo glanced up. Only a few feet away, Thane and Kasumi stood a few feet away, eyes wide at the sight, with a handful of batarians behind them. A few adults, men and women of varying ages, and a pair of children, one not yet tall enough to reach past Thane's elbow. Civilians.

The youngest one, a female, looked from Milo to the slaver, and back to Milo, all eyes focused on him with an unmistakable look of fear. "Father?" And before anyone could stop her, she rushed past the adults, throwing herself over her father's head and shoulders. A woman shrieked in terror but was held back by the other batarians.

"Penin, no!" shouted the slaver, but he was not loud enough to drown his daughter's wails as she continued to cling around her father.

"Leave my father alone!"

The rage clouding Shepard's mind disappeared almost instantly. Where the heat of hate had been, now he felt cold and numb; he looked at the scene with clearer eyes, from the batarian woman sobbing and covering her eyes, to the little face staring up at him defiantly despite the rifle barrel only inches from her skull, back to his friends and teammates that watched and waited for his next move... and lastly to the man underneath his heavy boot, still bleeding and bruising, waiting with a look of finality on his face. His brother's captor. A father. A husband. A slaver and kidnapper. A murderer.

His finger trembled on the trigger.

Fingers gently touched along his arm. He glanced down to them, his sight travelling up to the face of the person there. Jack watched him, hesitant and stiff. Yes, even she seemed shocked at what she'd walked back into. And pressed tight against her side like a child to his mother...

"Bobby," he whispered.

The tiny stick of a boy - no, oh God, he was a man now wasn't he - didn't respond. His hands were wrapped tightly into Jack's shirt as he stared blankly off into the distance, too deep in shock to hear him. Milo didn't dare touch him. He looked like he'd just fall apart if he did. Or, maybe, the sight would just reveal itself to be the dream he feared it was. He looked back up to Jack. Her expression was calm, blank, as she looked from him to the slaver. She murmured, "I wouldn't blame you."

"No... you wouldn't." He swung the rifle away and removed his foot from the batarian. Coughing as he sucked in air, the slaver pushed himself away and retreated into the arms of his family. All of his eyes remained on the human though, wary even through the pain. Milo stared right back for a moment before he grumbled, "But I would," and handed the rifle to Thane before taking Bobby up into his arms. Bobby whimpered once before curling against him, desperate for the warmth.

"Commander?" called Miranda.

"Pack up. We're done here," murmured Shepard.

And turning his back on them, he carried his brother away.

* * *

Jack watched Shepard go while the batarian family clustered tightly around each other. She was used to seeing his back; he always charged in first, much to the chagrin of The Illusive Man and Miranda, who argued that he should stay behind or at least stick with the group. And he was always the first one to lead them back to the _Normandy_, to make sure everyone knew the way. But this time was different. She had expected this to be a happy thing for him. A victory. But he just looked exhausted and ready to go home. And she couldn't shake the feeling that they had somehow failed.

Nearby, a bound batarian spit. Blood and saliva sputtered out between his needle teeth to dribble down his chin. Now that the commander's back was turned, he seemed to be regaining his courage... or his fear was losing out to sheer stupidity. "Stupid human," he grumbled quietly. "Knew we should have shot that useless one before now."

The ground in front of him suddenly lit up with blues and whites, shadowed with the shape of someone standing above him with an upraised fist.

Shepard was too far away to hear the slaver's last words.

Jack was not.

* * *

Bang. Snitch. Snitch. Bang. Bang.

The sounds echoed out from the hangar and into the engineering deck. Cerberus crewman looked down through the window that overlooked the area below, but didn't dare to go down. Possibly because of the tall redhead down below so angrily disassembling, cleaning and reassembling his weapons. With almost mechanical precision, but lacking in mechanical apathy, he went through his personal arsenal one by one. Trigger guards popped in the air, stocks slid noisily onto the table, intermittent with the clicks and clacks of metal on metal. Shepard stared down at the work, his brow furrowed and his face set as cold and blank as the weapons he manhandled, illuminated by the cigarette half falling out of his mouth. If he could smoke up a storm normally, the cloud that hung through the hangar was a veritable fog now.

Jack watched from the doorway, behind his back where he could not see. He had been down there since they had returned from the outpost. The slaves were still in med-bay, where they were being treated; Chakwas had suggested they be left alone, to better let them realize what had happened. And a good many of them required surgery for the implants still in their head. Recovery time was unknown for now, only that it would be long. The last time she had seen Bobby was in the med-bay, eyes wide open as he was looked over. The doctor had finally shooed Shepard out; hanging over the young man only seemed to frighten him and further stress his brother.

And so Shepard had been down there ever since.

She could totally just turn and walk away. Let him sort out his own shit. He clearly wanted to be alone. Noisy, angry and bitchy but alone. He'd never even know she was there.

Letting out a sigh, she took the first step in. "Hey," she called, her voice bouncing off the walls though barely over the racket he was causing.

Shepard glanced over to her. He relaxed somewhat, shoulders slumping. "Hey."

"You... okay?" she asked, cringing inwardly. What a stupid damn question. Trying to give it some strength, she added, "You're making a fucking racket."

He laughed, though it lacked any amusement. "That bad, huh? Sorry. Didn't realize I was being so annoying."

"Right in the middle of my beauty sleep. But... y'know, seriously, what's up?."

Milo slowly lowered the rifle onto the table and stared down at it. "I... It didn't go the way I expected it."

Jack scowled with confusion. "How? We got him back, didn't we?"

"We did. But when I saw him... What did I expect him to do? Come running up, all healthy and happy and remember me? It's been over a decade. A goddamn decade." He picked the rifle up again, retracted the barrel back into the receiver and slammed it back down. The table and its contents rattled. "But then I saw him and it was- he was-" He couldn't seem to find the words. She could see the tension anew in his body, the occasional twitch from a rigid muscle unable to let go. This wasn't the Milo Shepard she knew. Or, at least, the Milo she'd come to expect. It was strange, always knowing that he wasn't the person that perhaps she thought he was, but to see it in person was somehow surprising. And, yet, relieving... even the 'savior of the Citadel' had chinks in his armor. He was human. Like her.

On a whim, she reached out to his back. Halfway there, though, she felt unsure and paused. It seemed... too intimate. Too close. But the memory of his own fingers around hers, a gentle comfort when she had needed it, gave her a stab of hot guilt.

"You could have killed the fucker, at least," she pointed out, busying her hands instead with a cold gun part before he noticed.

"Nah."

"Why not?"

"Because that's the difference between me and Cerberus. They're willing to play God, and Satan too when they feel like it. I don't. I don't get the right to take that kid's parents from her. 'Cause then I'm no better than the ones who took mine from me, I guess." He paused in his relentless reassemble of the weapon and let out a sigh, sagging slightly. "Or, at least, that's what I keep thinking every time I fancy the idea of going back to make his head pop open like a party balloon. Maybe she was right."

She?

"We could always go do that. We didn't blow up nearly enough shit," offered Jack. Her lips tugged into a grin when he laughed, the first one she heard from him since they had left the asteroid. It was good to hear again.

"You always know how to cheer me up," he said, turning around to face her, balancing himself against the table.

"That's me. Little miss fucking sunshine."

"Sounds about right..." He paused with a thoughtful look on his face. "Look, Jack, if you don't mind me asking. Why are you here?"

Jack scowled at the question. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means... you're not the type to stick around," he pointed out cautiously. "You even say so. You've been all over the galaxy. Or, at least, all over the parts of it that can be shot at. And I know sure as hell that you aren't the comfort type. So why are you down here dealing with my sorry angst-ridden ass?"

The question caught her off guard and she could feel it show. Why? Because...

"Jack?"

Because...

She shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"That's not an answer," he prodded.

"The fuck it's not!" she snapped back, wheeling around to face him. "Look. I... Because. Because. Well. I kind of like you, you moron."

His silence was damning. Now she was the one who tensed, waiting for the inevitable dismissal, and she looked away to a random spot on the floor. Shit. She muttered, "Guess you'll be spending more time upstairs then, huh?"

And as much to her surprise as it seemed to his, Milo blinked and asked, "Why?"

"It wouldn't work. It never goes right. It never does!" Abruptly, she pulled away, turning as if to go but stopping in her tracks only a few feet away. Why couldn't she just walk away? She wanted to. But she didn't want to. Why wasn't this easy? Why wasn't anything with him easy? "Like we have time for some dumb shit love affair anyway. It never goes right." Why did she keep repeating that? Holy fucking redundant. But it was the truth. It never did. They always turned out to be assholes with a motive, with a greed, just people who never saw past the tattoos and biotics.

"You say love affair like I'm going to go sweep you off your feet and marry you," he said from behind her with an amused snort. She could hear the smirk in his tone, even if she couldn't see it on his face. Somehow it was a comfort to know he was. It was preferable to the silence of expression or voice. His footsteps approached her, heavy sounds against the metal floor, before he stopped beside her. She continued to stare at the floor, waiting for him to get bored or impatient, counting down the time. Thirty seconds. Forty. Fifty.

A finger brushed along her wrist, a message that he was there, but waiting. So damn deliberate, patient, tactical. With a grunt, she turned away again.

"Ever consider the idea that maybe I don't think you're so bad either?"

Jack didn't acknowledge the sensation that flared up in her core, warm and light. It was easier to flatten it with cynicism. "What're you saying? You got feelings for me, Milo?"

"And if I do?" he asked in return after only a moment's pause.

"There's other girls. Safer, nicer ones."

"Says who?"

"It'll just hurt. Or-or you'll fuck it up. _I'll_ fuck it up," she persisted, ignoring his query.

"How?" he asked, reaching for her hands again, gently folding his fingers around her wrist without pressure. His touch was warm, reminding her again of the way he had held her hand on Pragia. There had been no pity or sappy-eyed shit from him. Just an offer of comfort from someone who couldn't entirely understand, maybe just a little, but enough to know that a shoulder to cry on was not what they wanted. Someone who'd been there before. And yet all of her instincts told her to get out, now, but she just wanted to stay. That was the part that always got her fucked over.

"I don't know! But it always gets ruined in the end. You'll mess around, you'll die, I'll hurt you or... shit, I don't know. It just doesn't- it's just how it is."

"Says who?" She heard him move again.

When she opened her eyes and looked up, he was in front of her, watching her. That damned smile was on his lips. Jack couldn't decide. Did she hate that smug, confident grin, the way it tripped her up? Or did she love it, because it was so damn hard to ignore? She always saw it first. Not his eyes or face but that grin that was just so sure that even if it didn't go exactly to plan, it'd be a hell of a ride along the way.

That smile. That fucking smile. She loved it. She hated it. She missed it when it wasn't around. She craved seeing it, in a fight, in the dark, as long as he was smiling at _her_. And the thought, no, the realization that she more than likely wouldn't see it anymore... that in just a few short days, in a matter of seconds, either one of them would be dead... That it'd all be over before anything even began...

Jack shoved him back.

He seemed stunned by the action, having to catch the table for balance. Crestfallen, he called after her as she turned and started to march for the door. "Jack-"

"Leave me alone, Shepard."

Shit.

* * *

Lyrics are from 'Howl' by Florence + the Machine and are NOT mine.


	7. Chapter 6

_...And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack  
All around the world was waking, I never could go back  
Cos all the walls of dreaming, they were torn right open  
And finally it seemed that the spell was broken..._

* * *

_Christ, I could kill every single person left on this ship for a smoke right now_.

He stared down at the half-destroyed mess hall where, just a few hours ago, his crew had probably been sitting, gossiping and working. Now it was empty. Everyone was gone, except Joker, EDI, and the team. The galley was silent - unnervingly so- Gardner's last meal preparations abandoned out on the counter. Lacking anything else to do while they traveled back to the Sahrabarik system, he had offered to help clean up. The rest of the team was keeping to themselves; meditating, sparring, sleeping, whatever they felt they needed to get in before this final run. The big one.

And all Milo could really think about was how much he was craving a god-damned cigarette because, naturally, he'd given his last one to Kenneth.

Shaking his head, he tugged a chair up to standing position; most spacer furniture was bolted to the floor but whatever had hit it had done so with enough force to pull it clean out. Shots from Cerberus and Collector weapons alike had left nasty black scorch marks and gaping holes along the walls and floors. The glass to Chakwas's now eerily quiet office had been shattered entirely, leaving it open and exposed. He was half tempted to go in and take a swig of the brandy he'd bought her... God knew he needed a drink.

_Well,_ he reassured himself, because thinking about stupid shit like cigarettes was better than thinking about his crew in alien hands after what he'd seen them do to captives before, _even if I had one, there's nowhere else to light up. _He liked smoking, but not in his own room, for a number of reasons. It made the bedsheets stink, for one; no one wants to go to sleep and have your own damn pillows give you a craving. The other was Miranda's subtle hints in conversation that she was pretty tired of having her omni-tool go off every time he lit up near a smoke detector. And, most of all, because it made him feel like a hermit. So, as the team had grown, his spot had shifted around. First the Life Support systems (for the irony), then Thane and his chest issues had moved in. Kasumi took up the second one, Garrus the third, Samara the fourth. So the only other place he'd been able to smoke without harassment or guilt was...

Well, it was off limits.

_Ashley's probably laughing her ass off at me right now. Look at me; cleaning up a mess hall and pining over a convict. _He chuckled and turned his attention to the food left out. _"Hey, skipper, maybe it's about time you use that shore leave you've got building up." Heh._

Milo tossed the fruit into the cabinet with the rest and pushed the door shut, the gunnery chief still in his thoughts. Would she have been angry with him too? Oh god, angry probably wasn't the word. She would have ripped his face off, and two years ago he would have done the same. Only now he was standing in Cerberus's ship, cleaning up the mess left behind by a crew that had given him his mug of coffee every morning, worked their asses off and given up everything else to be on this mission. They should have been there.

He paused, an apple in hand. How long had it been since he'd thought of her? It may have been over two years for everyone else, but it had been less than months for him, since meeting her sisters to say he was proud of her, giving her uniform and a flag to her mother, since being hugged by them all. He wondered if Ashley had told them about their relationship; they had greeted him warmly enough that he suspected so. He wondered what they thought of him now... did they react the same way as Kaidan, thinking he was a traitor and terrorist? He probably should have emailed them... but more than ever, time was growing short for all of them, and there wasn't enough for regrets.

Regrets like heading off into a fire fight without saying what was on his mind.

He glanced to the elevator, tempted for the hundredth time to just go down. For anyone else, he probably would have; Milo was not one to shy away from confrontation, that much was true, but he'd realized this was not the same. Jack was not a bar fight to rush into, as much as she could resemble one, and she was not the usual woman he found himself attracted to. He had to consider things first from her perspective as much as his and tread carefully. In the end, he realized, nothing would come of it if he chased her. She had been running for all her life, and she was geared to flee. He didn't want to give her a reason to.

Grumbling to himself, he turned to head back up to his quarters. There had to be just one cigarette left _somewhere _on this ship.

* * *

Strange. She'd craved silence for a while now, and now that she had it, it was weird as hell. The constant chatter of the engineers and the quarian and the thunk-thunk-thunk of boots overhead had been annoying at times. But the absence was now even more jarring, leaving the scene around her feeling half-done and empty. So she'd come up stairs from her usual spot to walk around and try to fill her time as they headed for the Relay. That feeling of expectation, at least, was familiar; she knew this sensation of waiting for a fight - liked it even.

Footsteps. Not for the first time, Jack's head jerked around at the sound. She hoped - well, she thought she hoped it was him. Part of her also dreaded it. Shit, she was not a coward; her fists proved that often enough. But this was... not something she was used to. And another part of her was persistently cynical. He wasn't coming anymore. He had stopped coming a while ago, like she'd known he would.

Being right sucked.

But it was only the quarian. Tali paused when she saw Jack staring her way; facial expressions may have been impossible with those helmets, but Jack could see the brief moment of surprise in her body language. It was, after all, more her space than Jack's. Privacy invaded and feeling a bit of the intruder herself, Jack pushed away from the rail and started to march off. Tali said nothing, only returning to her station to work alone.

_Everyone's so quiet,_ Jack mused. She expected it from some of them. Thane, Samara, Zaeed, they were as battle-hardened as they came; whatever feelings they had before combat had long since been taken care of. But even the more talkative or less experienced ones - Garrus or Kasumi or Tali - were subdued and solitary. Even the cheerleader had been passive and silent. Maybe it was the gravity of what they were facing.

Shit, her head hurt. Arms crossed, she turned away from the lights and stared down through the glass into the cargo bay. Maybe this was a mistake. She'd gotten what she wanted out of the deal, there wasn't a crumb left from Pragia's labs big enough for a cockroach to eat, but this was... it hadn't really hit her what it meant until now. This wasn't just some sting for cash or laughs. If they failed, there was no back up plan. It was like Murdock used to say, that old human phrase about falling out of the pan just to hit the fire. She wasn't getting burned yet, but she sure as hell could see the flames.

Murdock.

While she was thinking about bad decisions, there was one. Had that been worth it either? If she could go back, would she have given it all up? The months of fighting with him, fucking with him, the laughs and fights and victories? What if she'd been able to stop him from going out the way he had?

Part of her said yes without shame. It would have been easier to just tear out that part of her and forget it existed. What if she could go back to that night, all alone in the ship, when his voice had come on the speakers and told her things she had never expected to hear. She could have just put her hands over her ears so she could ignore his confession and never have to spend a sleepless night hearing it in her fucking head. It would have been so much better if she hadn't known. It would have hurt less.

But then, what about the smiles too? The laughs over poker games, the sex in that cramped little cot, the way he'd run his fingers along her bare skin when he tattooed the omega symbol onto her back. And that last final moment of his life, standing against the onslaught with his back to her and protecting her without even bothering to say goodbye... and even later, hearing that someone had loved her, just for a little while. Were those worth giving up too?

And now when she thought of Murdock smiling, it made her think of Shepard. Shepard's smirk, the way it curved his lips just right in a way that made her want to sock him then kiss him, or maybe it was the other way around.

What if they didn't come back today? The relay was less than an hour away now.

Every time, it made her think back to Pragia. She had been so sure of what she wanted until that second but for just a moment, when she thought she would crumble, he'd been there to listen and hold her hand. Not to support her but to remind her of how strong she could be.

But she just couldn't understand one thing. She had to know, before she did anything else.

Jack swung around and headed for the elevator.

* * *

"Jack wishes to enter, Shepard," chimed EDI's calm tone.

Jack? Milo looked up from his data pads. "You're sure."

"Quite."

Ah. Hm. Well. Apparently the day was still full of surprises. Tucking his loose hair behind his ears, he stood up. "Sure. Let her in."

EDI's orb disappeared without another word. He could appreciate a polite AI. But his thoughts on the computer vanished once he saw the woman striding in. She marched with a purpose, hands balled and face tightly controlled, though once she saw him she came to a halt as if lost. Her mouth worked silently for a moment before she blurted, "Shepard."

"Hey." He paused, considering her again. She looked nervous, her eyes meeting his one moment and then darting away the next. He didn't blame her. Suddenly he was nervous. "You okay?" he ventured.

"I was... thinking about you," she admitted, choosing her words carefully. "What you said about... about what you feel about me." She glanced up, as if to make sure he was still listening. Confident that he was, her words grew stronger. The first hurtle had been breached.

Milo waited patiently as she gathered herself. She remained silent for an oppressively long second until a whisper finally seemed to push out of her.

"Why me?"

He paused. Part of him worried she would think he was hesitating. Well, he was, but not for the reasons she might think. Not because he wanted the best lie or to find a way out. He wanted to say it right. Because...

"Because... you're worth it. All the scars, all the history, all that shit we both have? It's worth it," he murmured. Opening his eyes again and staring down into hers, he reached for one of her hands. Her slim fingers fit well into his callused ones.

Milo remembered the first time he'd admired her tattoos; death spelled out across scarred knuckles and only growing from there, color after color hiding up the woman beneath, armor she wore everywhere. But it seemed less visible now. Now, when he looked at her, he saw her eyes first, hard yet somehow soft. "You - shit, Jack, I wish I could make you see it! How you make me feel. When I see you, I don't see Subject Zero."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "It's all you. You're fierce as hell, you're unstoppable, and you know it. I know it. I don't want that to change. And... I guess what I'm saying is that I want to be worthy of the trust you give me. You have every right not to trust me or anyone else out here in this shitty galaxy. But you're here now. You've got no idea how..." He swallowed. "How glad that makes me."

Jack was staring at him with obvious disbelief. "And you waited? Just like that?"

"I figured you'd come to me. If you didn't... then you didn't. I know this isn't exactly normal procedure."

"Fuck normal," she spat. But he could see it. The barest tease of a smile on her full lips._.. Lips like bruises_.

"Normal's boring as hell anyway," agreed Shepard.

She finally cracked and laughed, the spell of anxiety broken, and a smile bloomed. He could recognize the sensation rising in his chest, the way it always did now when he saw her. Her anger, her happiness, her trepidation. All these parts of her that he'd come to love as he'd come to expect them. He'd felt it for other women but none like this one. It felt like a surprise, even after saying it aloud, to realize just what it was.

But that was nothing like the hell of a shock he got when she kissed him.

* * *

Fuck it.

Leaning up onto her toes, Jack grabbed a hold of his shirt and pressed her lips to his. He seemed surprised by the action before relaxing into it and then returning it, careful to balance himself so her grip didn't pull him down. Her hands relaxed their hold as steadied herself on his chest, while one of his lay against her spine, warm and firm against the bared skin where Murdock had left his mark. It wasn't the best kiss she'd ever had; she could feel the grit of tobacco on his teeth. He smelled like bad armor polish. But it felt good and soft, nothing forced, just demanded. Her eyes cracked open and met his. Shit, he did have good looking eyes.

She was the first to pull away, settling back down on her heels while she waited for his reaction.

The smile was gone, replaced with a look of some surprise but still pleased nonetheless. A bit of her dark lipstick had been smeared on his mouth. When she barked out a laugh, he asked, "What?"

She pointed a finger to her own lips, indicating where it was.

"_Oh_," said Milo with a sigh, wiping away the makeup with the sleeve of his shirt. He smiled at it for a moment before looking back to her, expression sober. "Look... Jack. I just want to say, I can't make everything that happened go away. I can't even promise we're going to live in a few hours. But I can promise that I want to be here, right now or later on, with you. Yeah, maybe it'll get difficult. I'll be a jackass sometimes and need someone to put me in my place. Or you'll be pissed and I need to back off for a while, whatever. We'll probably both be breaking shit. I don't expect it to be sunshine and rainbows, Jack. I don't even know if we're coming back from this one. But, hey..."

He reached out and cupped her face in his hands, thumbs resting on her cheeks, so his eyes could meet hers. His hands were so warm. "But you're important to me. I..." He swallowed. "I really... you know. Like havin' you around."

Jack arched an eyebrow, amused at his awkwardness. At least this way she knew she wasn't the only one. "Boy, you really know how to set a mood, Shepard."

"See, that's what I like. I know at least one person on this ship who's going to tell me I'm a fucker when I need to hear it. I mean, I know I'm a fucker," he replied with a chuckle, "but it's nice to hear other people notice my efforts."

She smiled.

He smiled back.

Words fell away, unnoticed, as they watched each other for a while before her neck got tired of staring up at him. And when his arms wrapped around her, she rested her head on his chest, a little part of her waiting for the rest of the show. Even amongst the simple, careful pleasure of just being close, there was doubt. Maybe this was where she found out it was all a joke, a trick, to get her in the sack. That was how it usually worked. Nice words, nice gifts, and then the not-so-nice stuff began. It was just easier if she went with the flow and got it out of the way, and it hurt less if she expected it. At least if she were partially to blame, she had some control over that.

But she wanted to hope otherwise. Just this once.

Ignorant of her inner doubts, he kissed her forehead just on the edge where her shaved hairline met skin. His breath, warm and soft, brushed across her scalp. It tickled and she couldn't repress the shiver that made the hair on her arms and neck stand up. He paused for a moment and she was confused. Then, she realized, he had felt the shudder and thought he'd done something to cause it.

"It's nice," she murmured and, like the shiver, she couldn't hold back the grin slowly on her lips either. Badass motherfucker Milo Shepard. Killed aliens, blew up robots, Spectre or terrorist or whatever he was now... and he was afraid of spooking her. God, that was cheesy. But it felt good for reasons she couldn't quite place.

She felt his lips curve up as his face rested on her crown. "Glad to hear it, Jack," whispered his voice from above. The sound of her name on his lips felt good.

Silently, she stood with him for longer than she could later recall with her ear pressed to his chest. He was warm and solid, breathing slow and deep with his fingers tracing lightly along her arms. She could hear his heart beat. The steady tattoo of each pulse was reassuring; for just a moment, just _this_ moment, she could count on one thing in the world to happen without fail. Since she had stepped out of the hell that had been her entire world for thirteen years of her life, she had learned to live with disappointment, and to live with the expectation of things going away once everything went bad. But here was one thing, still going. He was promising to stay, if she would stay too. He was good. Maybe not perfect, but good. It was hard to believe that not so long ago he'd been dead, no heartbeat, no nothing. If it hadn't been for Cerberus, his corpse would have been another piece of space junk forgotten to time. She'd still be locked up in Purgatory, dead to the world. She'd never have known.

Even Cerberus had to do something right once in a while.

Jack closed her eyes and listened to the beat, content to just stay there for what time they had left, ignoring EDI's declaration over the loud speakers that they were approaching the relay. If all they had left was this instance, then she wanted to make it last. She'd make this fight worth something.

* * *

And then judgement day had come.

The Collector Base was hot, stifling, making sweat run down his face and back. His team stared up at him expectantly, beaten and bloody but alive. The fight to this point had been hard and not without damage; his shields were sputtering and Kasumi had been sent back with the rescued crew, her left arm badly burned clean through her suit. Mordin had a broken wrist he insisted was not as bad as it looked, but Milo could see in his pale face how it was aggravating his aged body. But no one was dead yet. The rest of them were still standing, guns and biotics at the ready, and he could see the tenseness among them. And they were looking to him for guidance. He had to see them through this.

"I don't have time for big damn speeches," he said plainly. "You know what we're here for. It ends here, either for us and for them. And I sure as hell mean it to be for them. I have a bar tab on Illium to pay." That got him a few chuckles, as he'd hoped. Sometimes you just needed to ease the tension.

He smiled at them. Shit, he was proud of them. All these humans, aliens, killers, heroes, assholes, and saints. His parents were gone and buried, his brother finally safe but systems away, but he felt that these people had become more like family in the past months than anyone else left.

"We've got a minute. Use it wisely."

The team nodded as one and began to break apart, slapping on medigel where it was needed or filling up ammo into their emptied out weapons. Milo shouldered his rifle and headed for the one person he wanted to talk to face to face.

* * *

She looked up at him as he approached. Reaching for his hand, she took it into both of hers, gripping his wrist hard as if that'd keep him there. "Shepard."

"I'm coming back."

"Quit it."

"I am. I'm taking Thane and Garrus; they're going to come at us with those platforms, I need their range, but I'm-"

"Don't promise shit you can't keep," she growled, returning the painfully tight grip he had on her hand that almost had a voice of its own. Don't go. Don't head into the squints without me. Don't go.

He let the sentence drop, returning the grip almost as strongly before he murmured, "Okay". Leaning down, either ignorant or blatantly ignoring the crew's eyes on them, he gave her a kiss. It was soft and small at first before she pushed it deeper, clutching him as if that was enough to keep him alive.

Milo was the first to release, breaking the touch between them and stepping back onto the platform with his eyes still fixed on hers. And when the platform jolted and carried him and the others away, he was still watching her, never turning his back away until he was too far out of sight to see. Jack swallowed hard and, reloading her pistol, turned her back on him to face the door. It shuddered under the force of the Collectors throwing themselves at it, and she could faintly smell something trying to sear through the material. They would be here soon. And when Milo came back, _if _he came back, she might not be around to see it.

She glanced at Miranda, all hostilities placed aside as they stood side by side to face mutual destruction. For once, there was no smug look on the Cerberus lackey's face; she met Jack's gaze and nodded firmly, though she was pale as a sheet. She knew what they were up against as much as Jack. That, maybe, none of them would walk away from this. But in this second, they had a shared goal.

"We've got this," she said bluntly and at least once before she died, she could say that Miranda agreed with her.

The door shook again, the 'boom' of force echoing around them all.

Her nerves tingled as she flexed her fingers, biotics curling around her body like an inferno. That was a lot of maybes. But she'd make them pay for every last one of them.

* * *

Welp. He could add 'giant skull creature-thing killing' to his resume.

His shields had failed from the impact of the reaper larva's collapse, only adding to the danger as he, Garrus and Thane dodged the swarms pouring out of the walls and corridors. Harbringer's words were echoing out of everywhere it seemed, dogging their heels even more closely than its minions, promising death or enlightenment or whatever the hell it was yelling about now. Milo didn't bother to stop running, only sucking in the air from his suit and pushing his already exhausted legs to keep going. Blood from a head wound was dizzying and blinding his left eye. But he was so close. So close to winning. They were getting out, all of them, and like a bad nightmare coming to an end, he just knew that if he kept pushing it'd be over soon. Had to get to the finish line first.

And like an angel from the heavens the _Normandy_, beaten all to shit but never more beautiful to him, swooped down to greet them. The airlock opened up and- what the shit, was that, yes, it was Joker with a rifle. And by his side, her battle screams audible even over Harbringer and the destruction all around them, there was Jack gunning down the bugs as they advanced. His heart swelled at the sight of her. Bloody, dirty, _alive_. He found new stamina and raced to join her.

The assassin made the leap onto the ship, Garrus hot on his tail. Shepard was the only one left. If he'd had time to pause for even a moment, he probably would have spat 'figures' but he saved the breath for a final push. Shots darted around him, ripping through the armor like it was nothing and burning his skin. And just when it couldn't get worse, the floor was collapsing out from under him. The platforms, crushed by falling debris, disappeared into the nether and only deepened the distance between the ship and the edge.

_Go. Go. Go. Go!_

He jumped.

Yes!

He latched onto the edge gripping with his arms and fingers and hanging onto the cracks in the floor with every last bit of strength he could hold on to. Shots ricocheted off of the ship around him, missing him but for the grace of God. Maybe he was luckier than he thought. He could feel hands grabbing onto him, dragging him up by his armor and limbs, until finally he was up and on his feet and facing his crew. Standing nearly upright, he gave Jack an exhausted and bloody smirk.

"See that wasn't too hard," he grunted.

She laughed.

And something hit him in the back. Hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs, he blinked once before falling back to his knees. Before he could stop it, a gasp of agony escaped his lungs as his nerves caught up and alerted him to the spot of hell that used to be his spine.

"Milo!"

Argh. Shit. _Shit._That hurt. A stray Collector shot, mused the logical part of his brain, what fucking bad luck. Milo opened his mouth to curse out loud but the pain strangled it into a rasping shout. He felt hands grabbing at him, pulling him into the ship as the door closed. His eyes didn't have time to adjust; the harsh yellow-white light from the core suddenly gone, he found himself in blackness. His back felt cold and numb. With a moment of panic, his memory drifted back to the empty abyss above Alchera. Yes, it was a completely different place and time, he wasn't alone, but it felt the same... the slow drag of warmth escaping. His chest began to ache as much as his back. It was so familiar.

For just a moment, amusement sparked in his thoughts amidst the confusion. How many men could say they remembered how it felt to die?

He heard his name shouted, dull and far away, and strained to look up. Faces were melting into each other as blackness began to creep into his vision, blotting out features one by one. But above him, barely visible in the encompassing darkness, he could see Jack's wide brown eyes staring down at him. There was just enough time for another sensation, not physical but emotional, a stab of regret as he felt his consciousness slip away.

_...Damn, I'm sorry.__  
_

* * *

Ignoring the sounds of Miranda and Joker shouting over her head, she clutched Shepard close to her. She felt the blood, the hot familiar texture of it, flowing freely under her palms and down her fingers, and the shout broke out of her throat before she could hold it back. The wretched sound of it was the only thing she could hear, even as she strained to hear him breathe or feel his heart beat. There was nothing, only the sagging weight and his wide open eyes.

"Shepard? Shepard! No!" Her voice cracked as the truth hit her in the face. Hands were pulling at her but she tugged away, shaking his limp form in some poor attempt to revive him.

"You can't die like this!" But even while she raged and prayed, deep down she saw the fact of it. "Goddamit!"

It had always been too good to be true.

"_Milo!_"

* * *

_There was water.  
_

_Commander Milo Shepard stood in smooth water, pale skin bare and red hair loose around his neck; feeling along his face, his fingers found no trace of the scar that marred his left eye. Ripples tickled his feet as they spread out and away from him. Though he could see the water itself, barely high enough to touch his heels, there was nothing to view beyond but empty darkness. Again, he was reminded of Alchera; the complete lack of sound, air, and heat. But there was no pain this time. There was nothing, nothing but the stars and moons that swirled in a dark waltz above his head, more colors and shapes than he had names for, giving off a faint light above him. _

_"Oh," he said without breath or sound or voice, "I remember this."_

_"You should."_

_His head swung around to face a woman. As naked as him, she leaned with a cocky stance against the shadows, her dark hair freed from its bun to flow freely around her face like a halo. Her skin was illuminated by all the colors of the lights above them, ethereal and haunting. He knew that confident smile anywhere. _

_Milo stepped closer to her. "Hey Ash."_

_"Hey, skipper." Gunnery __C__hief Williams reached for his hands, squeezing them gently. Her touch was cold and limp._

_"You're dead."_

_"So were you," she replied calmly._

_And like a trigger being pulled, he was suddenly angry, furious. Words spilled out of his mouth without restraint, words he hadn't even realized he'd been holding back until now. "You weren't there! I remember. I waited. Two goddamn years I waited. And what was there, Ashley? No God. No nothin'. All that, and all that I woke up to was a goddamn Cerberus station blowing up in my face and sirens screamin' in my ear. There was _nothing_."  
_

_"Maybe for you." Her voice was even, emotionless, with none of the sarcasm or edge that had defined her in life. "So why am I here now?"_

_For once, Milo found himself without anything to say. When he said nothing, Ash filled in the terrible silence. "Because you want me to be. I'm dead and gone, skipper. Why here?" Her voice shifted, serene, with purpose. "You said you waited. Why did you make yourself wait?"_

_A chubby hand brushed his arm. Milo looked down to it before following downward to the person it belonged to. "Hey Bobby." _

_"Hi." The youngster grinned up at him. There was no sunken cheeks or disease-riddled skin on him now, just the memory of the Bobby that Milo remembered. He was a healthy, happy child, wearing the same clothes as he had the night he had been taken. Little gaps showed where he had been losing his baby teeth. Milo remembered that, remembered sneaking into his room to tuck in little candies in exchange for the little white teeth, just like his parents had done for him. He was the big brother after all._

_"You shouldn't be here. You got stuff to do. Hero stuff."_

_"I'm no hero, Bobby," said Milo. "I'm the guy who got stuck with the job someone gave him 'cause he was dumb enough to touch alien shit that didn't belong to him. It's not the same."_

_"Isn't it? You make people happy, make 'em feel safe. Heroes do that."_

_"Not all of them. Not you. Not her."_

_"You've made hard choices, skipper," Ashley said. "You knew the risk. And so did I. What other people do, what other people decide, isn't always your fault." Her hands smoothed up his arm, along his shoulder and neck to cradle his face gently. "Even when it happens to the people you love." _

_Milo closed his eyes, resting into his former lover's touch. The kiss to his shoulder made him shake._

"It's too late for these memories, Milo. But there's more to life out there, you know," she whispered, turning him about face.  
_  
_Shepard?

_He looked up sharply toward the sound echoing out across the blackness. His name. That voice._

Shepard? Shepard! No!

_"Jack," he murmured._

"_'__One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will...__'__" whispered Ashley in the tone of prose his heart had been soft for, before Virmire, before so many things. She pressed her hands to his back, gently pushing him. Moving his legs was a battle, like his feet were trapped in a bog. Why wouldn't his body obey him? Above them, the stars and planets began to fade out and disappear, one by one, in a pattern following the direction of Jack's voice. "__'__To strive, to seek...__'__"_

You can't die like this_, shrieked Subject Zero from so far away. Infuriated, terrified, desperate. _Goddamit!

_He had to go. He began to run. It started as a slow jog, his legs and feet still struggling sluggishly, then gaining speed and urgency as her voice became more frantic. She was upset. Scared. He couldn't let that happen. She'd already had so much shit in her life, shit she didn't deserve or ask for. He refused to be another one of those memories, to be another Murdock, to be just another failure in her past. He wanted to be there with her, next to her, for her. To feel those lips, just one more time, and taste those bruise-colored kisses. He loved her._

"_'__To find...__'__" Ashley's voice whispered in his ear, though she was running along beside him. Bobby, too. All the people he hadn't saved on the Citadel, the settlers of Freedom's Progress, Horizon, Eden Prime, and Mindoir, an aged soldier fighting for his patch of farmland on Elysium, his mother and father together... They ran behind and around him, pushing him forward. No, not forward... back to where he needed to be._

Milo!

_Her voice carried through the dark as a pain-filled howl, and he fought to return it._

_"Jack!"_

_The sun before him dwindled. Milo stretched out his hand to reach it._

"Jack!"

_A dead woman's breath brushed at his neck.  
_

_"'And not to yield...'"_

_He squeezed his fingers shut over the final dying light._

And then-

* * *

The lyrics for 'Blinding' by Florence + the Machine are not mine; the lines quoted by Ashley are from 'Ulysses', as written by Lord Alfred Tennyson, and is public domain but still not my creation.


	8. Epilogue

_...I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map_

_And knew that somehow I could find my way back_

_Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too_

_So I stayed in the darkness with you..._

* * *

Hair was itchy.

Jack idly rubbed her hand over her scalp where her hair was growing in. Like many things in her life, she'd made a snap decision to try something new, and a fresh hairdo seemed like a good place to start. Though that hadn't been nearly as surprising to the rest of the team as when she'd gotten that vest. Man, she was going to have to put on shirts more often if it got stunned looks like the one she'd gotten out of Miranda. Ha!

The only annoying part was how she could feel the little hairs stirred by the faint artificial breeze of the Citadel's Presidium. It was hard not to scratch, so she settled for smoothing her palm over it until it was satisfied, and returned to looking out over the pristine gardens and little people below. The station was still the most boring place in the galaxy, completely lacking in real fun once you got out of the seedier part of the Wards, and all the people were soft as shit... but she liked the view here.

It was peaceful. After all the shit after the relay and the Collector base, even she was past due for peaceful.

A hand touched along her elbow without warning; a bit of static went off between the foreign fingers and her skin. Instinct seized her. She balled up her fist and raised it high, biotics swirling around her fingers, before she caught herself just in time.

Without so much as blinking, Milo offered her a cigarette. "Smoke?"

Jack scowled and lowered her hand, the blue field around her disappearing. "You need to remember the rules about sneaking up on me, jackass." She snatched a stick from the little metal box that Milo held his smokes in.

Shepard held up his hands in surrender before lighting both cigarettes and pocketing the pack. Seeing the way he kept it close made her smile; she'd gotten him that, and he carried it everywhere. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"And quit calling me sweetheart," she groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. Hopefully he'd ignore her grin.

As he was smirking himself, she doubted it. "Will do, babe," he replied.

For that he got a punch in the arm. The marine groaned dramatically and clutched at his bicep as if in mortal pain. Drama queen. "How'd the meeting go, you whiner?" she asked, jerking her head back towards the door he had come in through.

He glanced back to Anderson's office and, shaking his head discreetly, took her by the hand. Her fingers slid easily into his, holding on loosely as he steered them away from the politician offices and out into the crowded pathways.

"They don't think I left Cerberus," he stated, disgust just barely masked under his voice, "and they aren't saying a peep about the data we collected on the Reapers or the Collectors. I shouldn't be surprised but, yep, I am."

Jack gruffed so hard it hurt her chest. "They're idiots. They'll see what's coming soon or later."

"That's what I'm worried about." Milo sighed and took a deep drag, a frustrated look on his face. How he put up with those council assholes without throwing a chair at them - as she would have, no doubt - was beyond her. But he'd figure it out. She was sure of that.

"How's your back feeling?" she ventured, seeing that he wasn't too keen on talking about bullheaded politics.

Milo felt along his shoulder where she knew there was a scar that crept up along the center and top of his back; the Collector shot had been hard, burning through his stressed armor and hitting his spine. In dark nights, she could remember his body, limp and cold, those horrible few moments when she'd thought she had lost as quickly as she had felt victory. But here was his hand in hers, warm and firm. Alive.

"Better," he said, "though still sore. Mordin's a genius, and the data we were able to keep from Cerberus helped him keep me and their tech inside going. He said it was a close call, though..."

His eyes seemed to glaze over and his expression was thoughtful as he stared off into nowhere, though it was only a moment before he added, "I believe him."

She gave his fingers a squeeze. He returned it with a smile. "Want to go hit up a bar?" she offered. "I know a place. The whiskey'll knock you on your ass."

"You gonna thrash the barkeep like you did the last one? We don't have the Illusive Man keeping all the cops paid off anymore, you know," he pointed out as they walked. "And-"

She ducked into an alley, pulling him with her. Pressing him against the wall and straddling his leg, she leaned heavily against his bigger frame. The look of momentary surprise on his face was an amusing one. Their cigarettes fell out of their fingers, forgotten on the ground together. "When'd you turn into such a fun sucker?" she hissed.

"When I realized how much it cheesed you off," he retorted without missing a beat.

"It's annoying."

He laughed. "You like me when I'm annoying."

It was true and they both knew it. Didn't mean she had to show it though. Rather than let him have the last say, shut him up with a kiss. Time had grown between them and so had confidence; no careful wariness stopped either of them now as she let her attraction show, kissing him as roughly as he gave back. She reached up to cup his face in her hand, her thumb smoothing over the scar over his eye and brow. The one she'd been responsible for. God, that was sexy.

His own hands roamed as well, fingertips racing down with now memorized ease along her tattoos and scars, down the lines and swirls and creases. Any passerby who stopped to look could probably see them, but it only added to the sense of excitement. He groaned when she reached down for his fly and-

"_Commander Shepard?"_

What?

Both humans glanced down to Milo's left arm, where his omni-tool's message system had appeared over his wrist and hand. Shepard scowled at the orange glow as he read the label. "Hackett?"

"_Shepard. I have to speak with you regarding an important matter,"_ gruffed an old man's voice from the omni-tool, one she didn't recognize. _"In private."_

Of course it'd be the Alliance cutting into her fun time. Jack gave Shepard a sigh as he stood up straight and replied, "I'll take it in my quarters on the _Normandy_. I'll be there as soon as possible, Admiral."

"_Will do, Commander."_

The omni-tool shut off, leaving them alone again. Milo smiled apologetically at her. "'Doing It In Dirty Places Time' is going to have to wait, I think."

"Fun sucker," she accused again.

"If it makes you feel better, people are gonna see me walking crooked all the way to the ship," he cooed with amusement, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She swatted him away. "And I'll buy you a round later."

"You better."

"I'd be too afraid of the consequences if I didn't."

Jack arched an eyebrow at him. Ass.

But then Shepard smirked. That stupid smirk, the one she loved, the one she wanted to smack. The one she couldn't wait to see every day for the rest of her life. But this one was not the same as the one he usually wore, cocky and amused. This one was happy, adoring, and still a bit cocky.

This one was for her.

"I ought to beat you sometimes, Milo Shepard."

"Hey. What can I say?" he chuckled and pulled her close again, giving her a final kiss before the universe pulled him away again. But it wouldn't be for long. She believed in that now. "A kiss with a fist is better than none."

* * *

Lyrics to 'Cosmic Love' by Florence + the Machine are not mine.

So thanks to everyone who's read this whole thing, and encouraged me through my worst moments of thinking this was a stupid fic or even wanting to drop it entirely with thoughtful comments, helpful hints and wonderful fanart. I had a fun challenge in writing this, but you guys made it worth it.

And a second HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to my beta, rose_in_shadow for her big help in editing and plot issues. I couldn't have finished without you and I owe you a beer.

Lastly, thanks to Bioware for making a kickass character like Jack. Here's looking forward to what Mass Effect 3 has to bring for her.

Cheers!


End file.
